In Her Eyes (A Whouffle Fanfiction)
by WhouffleGirl96
Summary: Whouffle. Be prepared to be punched in the feels.
1. Chapter 1

One moment she was standing there, chestnut hair tumbling down her back, eyes twinkling, a half-amused smile on her face as he darted around the console twiddling dials and pulling levers saying any old nonsense at her, just to hear her laugh. Then she was gone. There. Gone. There. Gone.  
>"Clara?" The Doctor called to the now empty console room, panicked. No answer. <em>Well of course there wouldn't be, she isn't here.<em>He thought to himself sadly, taking out the sonic and scanning the area where she had been. He checked the results carefully, not wanting to miss anything that could lead him to her. To Clara.  
>The Doctor frowned at the sonic, not able to get a clear reading. He tapped it impatiently against his palm and scanned again, this time with a bit more luck.<p>

"So she was taken by teleport...an advanced time vortex manipulator, maybe?" He mused to himself. The Doctor's hearts sank. Vortex manipulators can be very hard to track. Very, very, _very,_hard. Clara could be anywhere, with anyone...she might even be dead. The Doctor angrily plugged the sonic into the TARDIS, uploading the information into the TARDIS database. _Don't think like that Doctor,_he berated himself, _Clara is_not _dead. Not on my watch._  
>The TARDIS console beeped. The Doctor swung the screen towards him, eyes searching frantically for any clues to her whereabouts. <em>There.<em>A set of coordinates for Polaris Spaceport, the Taxhyon galaxy. What on Earth is she doing there?  
>Not wanting to waste any more time he set the coordinates, fingers flying over the controls. "I'm coming for you Clara." He whispered to the empty room. The Doctor threw a lever, sending the TARDIS spinning into the time vortex.<p>

"I promise."

* * *

><p>Clara was strapped in a padded chair, metal cuffs chafing her wrists and ankles making her shiver with cold. She had woken up a few moments ago to find herself in a plain white room like a cell, with no TARDIS, no Doctor, and no means of escape. Not even a window for her to squeeze out of. As a result, she wasn't in the best of moods. At all.<p>

"Doctor?" Clara croaked, her voice dry and raspy. How long had she been out for? Not that long, surely, or the Doctor would be here by now. Wouldn't he? She begins to panic, straining against the cuffs that mercilessly held her in place.

"Doctor! DOCTOR!" Clara all but screamed into the suffocating silence that filled her cell. No answer. He can't have left her. He must be around here somewhere. Clara looked hopefully at the doot opposite, wishing that the Doctor would sonic it open and bounce in, all flailing limbs and floppy fringe. He didn't, so she resorted to calling his name again, her voice getting hoarser with every attempt.

"I'm afraid your precious Doctor can't hear you, Miss Oswald. Although this would be much more fun if he could." A slick man in his forties rounds Clara's chair, his polished shoes reflecting her face as they clicked on the tiled floor. Clara stopped yelling and eyed him warily, her gaze following him as he walked to the front of her chair and stood there, leering at her.

"Who are you? What do you want with me?" Clara refused to be intimidated by this man. It was what he wanted, and she'd be damned if she was going to give him that.

The man cocked his head to one side, a small smile spreading across his thin face. "So brave. So determined. But then again, all of his women are."

Clara ignored the dig and strained against her bonds once more, squirming in a futile attempt to escape them. The man watched her amusedly, chuckling slightly at her.

"You really think I'm going to let you go after all the time and trouble I took to get you?" He crouches down in front of her so that they were eye to eye and taps the cuffs.

"I had these made special. The Doctor's companion deserves quality, me thought. After all, she's going to be here for a while."

Clara fights harder, the chair lifting from the floor slightly from the force of her struggling. She needed to get out of this place, wherever she was. Fast. She didn't like the looks this guy was giving her. He was the sort of person that, if you met them in the street, you would cross the road to avoid. The sort that the teachers at her secondary school would warn you about. Clara shrinked back as he placed his hands on her wrists and applies pressure, effectively stopping the chair from rocking. She slumped back in her seat as far as she could and glanced torwards the door once more, holding onto the hope of the Doctor.

"He's not coming girly. Not yet. Not until it's too late, anyway." He shrugged. "Sorry," he said, looking genuinely apologetic. "Just doing my job."

_He's not coming. He's right. _Clara tried to hold back the tears, not wanting the man to see that he had gotten to her, but she couldn't. She looked down at the floor to hide the tears that streaked down her face but couldn't quite conceal the shake in her shoulders and the tiny sobs that escaped her. _After all this time, after everything we've done for each other, he's just going to leave me here. To die, alone, with a complete creep. _

The man, noticing her despair , pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulled Clara forward until his lips were resting by her ear. Clara no longer bothered to resist. She had been robbed of all hope, all faith in the Doctor. There was no longer any fight left.

"Maybe you should chose who to fall in love with more carefully next time, hmm?" the man whispered, his breath tickling Clara's ear. He released her and she fell back into her chair with a soft _thump_, her eyes staring at a patch of wall somewhere above his head. Clara no longer cared what he did do her. All she could think about was the Doctor, and how he had abandoned her when she needed him the most.

The man pushed himself back to his feet and rubbed his hands together. "Enough of this. Let's get on with things, shall we?"

He produced a hankerchief from his pocket and pressed it against her nose and mouth, holding it there tightly, expecting a struggle. To his surprise Clara just sat there staring and let the drugs take her, listening, listening for the sound of Doctor's voice calling her or the TARDIS materilizing. Sounds that never came.

**A/N**

**Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own Doctor Who or anything to do with the show. Although I do call dibs on Matt Smith ;)**

**©WhouffleGirl962014. If I catch any plagiarism of my work, I will not hesitate to report you. You have been warned.**

**Okay. Serious stuff over.**

**Hello and welcome to Jasmine's magical world of Whouffle! Firstly I would like to apologise in advance for the emotional wreck that I am about to become while writing this story. I ship Whouffle so much, and I'm planning a plot that will probably bring on a lot of feels as it goes on. Oh man. It's a downward spiral from here. Anyway, I'm new on here (literally just joined) and any constructive critism is welcome.**

**Also for those of you on Wattpad, this is WhovianInSpace96. Don't panic I haven't nicked the story. **

**Please R&R :) **

**Jazz xx**


	2. Chapter 2-The Game

he Doctor sprinted down the corridor, his long legs stretching farther and moving faster than he had ever thought possible. Every so often he would stop, break into a room, take a frantic look around and then resume his headlong rush through the maze of clinical passages and holding areas that made up the Testing Facility at Taxhyon Spaceport. She had to be here somewhere, had to be. The Doctor tried not to think about the possibility of Clara dying him being too late to save her, Clara being captured and subjected to some kind of torture because of something he had done. The possibilities were endless, and each scenario played itself with such clarity in his mind that the Doctor felt tears begin to form in his eyes and his chest tighten with every image. He couldn't lose Clara. Not like this.

The corridor ended and the Doctor cursed as he found himself in a crossroads where four of the corridors met. He span on the spot, the tails of his tweed coat flapping, looking for clues. Nothing. He came to a halt, despair and grief creeping their way across his face. The Doctor was completely and utterly lost; in a maze, in grief, in love with a woman he now feared he would never see again. He squeezed his eyelids shut, suppressing the salty tears that were threatening to fall. He would find her. Even if it took every last breath in his body, he would find her. And woe betide anybody who was stupid enough to stand in his way.  
>"Oh, Doctor." A voice boomed from above. "I never knew you were the sentimental type. Of course, I had my suspicions, but you do have quite a 'thing' for Miss Oswald, don't you?"<p>

The Doctor opened his eyes slowly. A solitary tear escaped from one of his eyelids as he did so, curving down his face and falling to the carpeted floor.  
>"What have you done with Clara?" He growled at the speaker in the ceiling, pure unadulterated hate coursing through his veins, replacing his earlier sorrow. He's surprised and slightly scared at just how angry he is. He hasn't felt anything like this since, well, the Time War, and the fact that an ordinary human girl can take him to the same extremes of emotion as a full blown war unsettles him. Whatever had happened to the man who had retreated to a cloud to avoid situations like these?<br>_Clara Oswin Oswald, that's what. _  
>The voice tutted at the Doctor, snapping him out of his thoughts.<br>"I see your manners have not improved with age, Doctor. Never mind. Let me lay down some rules for the game we're about to play, hmm?"  
>"Game?" asked the Doctor. That voice. It was strangely familiar, but the Doctor couldn't quite put his finger on it.<br>"Why yes Doctor, a _game. _How about...hide and seek? I know that you love those sorts of games. After all you did play one with me, all those years ago. And this time the stakes are even higher. And the prize is so very..._precious._" The voice was smug, revelling in the Doctors ignorance. The man himself gritted his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists hanging at his sides.  
>"Never." The Doctor spat. He wanted to draw this conversation to a close so he could gather his scattered thoughts and continue his search. The voice, however, had other ideas.<br>"Oh, this is too _good._ Did you hear that, girly? The Doctor doesn't want you anymore. Girly?"  
>There's a moments silence punctuated only by a quickly stifled sob. The Doctor could almost hear both his hearts breaking.<br>_Clara. _  
>"Anyway," the voice carried on cheerfully, "it's time I laid down those rules, hmm?"<br>The Doctor didn't answer. He was staring at the speaker with a glare that would have made even the most psychopathic Dalek tremble in it's casing.  
>"Yes, I think it is." The voice said after realising that the Doctor wasn't about to answer anytime soon. "Rule number one: You may not use the sonic screwdriver. If I hear even the tiniest of buzzes, I will kill the girl, as pretty as she is right now."<br>"If you lay so much as a finger on her..." the Doctor warned, eyes flashing dangerously.  
>"You'd better abide by the rules then Doctor. What happens to her will be down to you. So listen carefully, because rule number two is up next."The voice clears its throat.<br>"Rule number two: You may not use the TARDIS. If she moves so much as an inch from her current position, I will kill Clara. In fact, if you do anything at all that I don't like the look of, I will kill her. Got it?"  
>The Doctor nodded reluctantly. "Yes." he muttered softly. He didn't like this 'game' one bit, but if he didn't go along with this lunatic he had no doubt that both him and Clara would wind up dead. He wasn't concerned for himself so much for Clara; he blamed himself for her being here. The moment he found her again, the Doctor decided, he was taking her home. As much as it would hurt him to leave her behind, the consequences would be much worse if Clara was to continue travelling with him. It was for the best.<br>"Excellent." the Doctor could almost hear the owner of the voice rubbing his hands together with glee. "You have ten minutes to find us. Better start running, hmm?"


	3. Chapter 3- So Close, Yet So Far

The speaker faded to static. The Doctor quickly searched the corridor for clues but came up empty-handed.

"Come on Clara, need a little help here." He whispered urgently to the empty passageway. He began to pace, hyper aware of the seconds that were ticking away. If he was Clara, what would he have done? She wasn't the type to just stand around while being kidnapped. She would fight, hard. The Doctor imagined her being dragged away, her fists and feet lashing out at random in the hope that a stray slap or kick might land and she could tear herself away from her captors. Now what if, _what if, _one of these blows had connected with one of the walls and left a mark? The tiniest of imprints that, at first glance, could be easily overlooked by somebody who wasn't specifically searching for it. The Doctor popped on Amy's reading glasses, looking at the crossroads with fresh eyes. His vision slid from wall to wall until-

Bingo.

Halfway down the corridor directly in front of the Doctor, at knee height, was a faint muddy print left by Clara's boot. The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief and ran towards it, pocketing the glasses as he does so. Now he's found the first clue to Clara's whereabouts actually finding her should, in theory, be fairly straightforward. All he had to do was follow the trail that she had left for him. Simple. But the Doctor had a niggling feeling at the back of his head that it wasn't going to be that easy.

* * *

><p>Clara watched through heavy lidded eyes as the man sauntered into her cell waving a remote at her.<p>

"Good morning, Miss Oswald. And how are you today?" he asked brightly, pressing a button on the remote. A section of the wall in front of Clara began to slide into the ground.

"Mmrph urgh uff ruff." Clara said angrily, her voice muffled by the rope gag that was stuffed in her mouth.

"Just a moment." The man rummaged in his pockets, whipping out a pen knife and cutting through Clara's gag.

"What did you say again?" He asked casually, running one finger over the blade of the knife emphasising it's razor sharp edge. Clara either hadn't noticed or didn't care, because she fixed him with one of her steeliest glares.

"I said, just you wait until the Doctor comes for me you little-"

The man jumped up from his chair so suddenly that Clara barely had time to register it happening before he grabbed a fistful of her hair, shoving her head back and pressing his knife to her throat. Clara's heart thumped in her chest and her fee scrabbled the floor for footing.

"Be very careful what you say to me, girl." He hissed in her face. "I may enjoy your company, but please remember that you are a hostage and I can to whatever I want to you." He cocks his head to one side, tracing her facial features idly with his knife.

"It would be a shame to ruin such a pretty face. Such a waste of youth."

Clara sat as still as possible and clamped her mouth shut. Now was not the time for a witty comeback, no matter his badly she wanted to give one. She had no doubt that, if given an excuse, the man would not hesitate to do more with that knife than just wave it about.

Turning away from her kidnapper, Clara diverted her attention from the man and back to the wall, which had now stopped sliding to reveal a flat screened TV. The Man removed his knife from her face and grinned down at her. From crazy murdererous lunatic to over excited schoolboy in less than a minute.

"Like it?"

Clara shrugged, trying to get her still pounding heart to calm down to its usual rate.

"Its alright."

The man tutted then turned it on and flicked down the channels, which, Clara realised, were all live feeds from security cameras.

"You'll love it in a minute." The man promised her, pausing at a particular channel and winking at her before selecting it. Clara threw him the 'don't-mess-with-me' look which she usually saved for Angie then directed her attention back to the TV screen. Her heart leapt in her chest when she saw the Doctor haring through the passageways. He was coming for her. Not that she hadn't thought that he wouldn't, but when you're locked in one room with a psychopath for too long you do begin to question what's real and what isn't. Clara gazed at the screen, drinking in the wholeness of the Doctor, the very sight of him beginning to chase away the loneliness and abandonment she had felt. He was here, he was coming. She wouldn't be stuck here for much longer. Her smile grew even wider when she realised how close he was to finding her. How long had it taken him to get this far? Five minutes at the most, surely. The smile that had appeared on her face disappeared. This was too easy. If the man, whoever he was, had fought the Doctor before, he must know that a maze, however complex it may be, wouldn't stop him for long. What was he playing at?

She glanced up at the man, who was now leaning against her chair with his arms folded, a smug smile on his face. There was something else going on here, and Clara didn't like it one bit.

* * *

><p>Back in the never-ending corridors of the Testing Facility the Doctor was having much the same thoughts as Clara. Even without the sonic and the TARDIS he was finding it much too easy to find her. Her trail, though hard to find and even harder to follow, was too obvious for it to have been overlooked by the man, whoever he is. Something sinister was going on here. The Doctor could only hope that he would reach Clara before the man could implement the rest of his twisted game.<br>The Doctor ran on for a few more metres until he realised that Clara's trail had gone cold. He doubled back, fighting the rising tide of panic that was threatening to submerge him, and found the last clue that he had seen before he lost it. The Doctor used up one if his precious minutes to comb the corridor, right up to the dead end at the bottom.

Nothing.

Not even a hint, the slightest trace, of Clara anywhere. In a rare moment of fury the Doctor punched the wall with all the force he could muster, barely noticing the pain that lanced through his knuckles and the hollow ring that echoed through the passage. He had come so close to finding her.

So

_Punch_

Damn

_Punch_

Close

_Kick_

The Doctor blinked with surprise as his foot punctured the wall, flying in so far that by the time the Doctor managed to stop his forward momentum he was in the wall up to his thigh.

"D-D-D-Doctor?" A voice, weak and tired but full of hope, floated through the hole. His hearts lifting the Doctor wiggled his foot out of the hole and pressed his face against it instead.

"Clara?"

The brunette lifted her head, hair falling away to reveal a cloth gag which had just been shoved roughly back into place. Behind her the man fiddled with something on a trolley.

Clara's eyes widened when she saw the Doctor and she began to wrestle with the cuffs on her chair, causing the chair to squeak loudly. The Doctor placed one finger against his lips, signalling for her to be quiet. He needed to get her out of her cell stealthily so her captors wouldn't notice her leaving.

Clara quietened down, trusting the Doctor to come up with a plan to get them out of there alive. She still reckoned that this was all a trap, but as to what it was and why the man was doing it she hadn't the foggiest idea. That was until the man turned from the trolley and grabbed hold of her arm, twisting it so the underside was showing and dabbing it with a piece of cotton wool. She looked between it and the man until it finally clicked.

He was prepping her for an injection.

Clara was strapped down and very effectively gagged, so she did the only thing she could to get the Doctor's attention: scream.

She filled her lungs with as much air as they could take without bursting and let off the loudest, glass shattering scream she had ever done.

Needless to say, it definitely got the Doctor's full attention.

His head popped back through the wall and, upon seeing Clara's predicament, abandoned any thoughts of being subtle. He had to get to Clara as quickly as possible before anything happened to her that he couldn't fix. The Doctor backed up against the opposite wall, cracking his neck from side to side.

"Geronimo."

**Sorry its taken me so long to update. As an apology, I'm gonna post three chapters in three days, starting today. :) Enjoy!**


	4. Chapter 4- I've Got You

Clara was only vaguely aware of the huge crash to her right, the rubble and dust that cascaded into the cell. All her focus was on the needle that had been pushed into her skin, the cold liquid that was being pumped through her veins as the plunger ruthlessly forced it in. Her vision became blurry and her head spun.

"Clara? Clara! Clara, can you hear me?"

A pair of hands held her face gently but firmly, one thumb stroking her cheek, soothing her. Clara focused on the person kneeling in front of her and the Doctor's familiar features swam into view. He smiled gently at her, but there's a cold anger in his eyes as one of his hands left her cheek to untie the gag in her mouth. As soon as it's gone she leans down and plants a somewhat sloppy kiss on his cheek, her distracted state making it hard for her to control her actions. Nevertheless the Doctor blushed as he fished around in his jacket for the sonic, causing Clara to smirk lazily at him.

"You came back for me." She half whispered, voice slurred.

"Of course I did. Why wouldn't I?"

He pointed the sonic at her cuffs and they snapped open. The Doctor helped Clara up but after one step she fell into his arms, clutching at the lapels of his tweed jacket as her weak limbs folded underneath her. The Doctor swept her up into his arms and she snugggled a little into his chest.

"I dunno." The Doctor felt her shrug. "I'm just a ghost, remember?"

The Doctor frowned. She didn't really still believe that, did she? To him Clara was anything but a ghost. She was everything to him, a vibrant streak of colour in his world of grey that will never dull, never, ever, ever fade to black, even when she was gone. Oh she may leave him, or even die, but he would never forget her. One of his hearts will always belong to her.

The Doctor leaned down slightly, making sure he had Clara's full attention before he spoke.

"Clara Oswald," he started, voice thick with emotion. "Don't you ever, ever, think that again. You are so much more to me than just a ghost."

"Really?" she asked him in a small voice, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck.

"Really." He confirmed. The Doctor took a deep breath, figuring that as he had already gone this far he might as well throw caution to the wind and go the whole way.

"You are my everything. Without you I would be nothing, a hollowed out, empty shell of the man I am today. The man _you _made me, Clara. You're no ghost. You're the Impossible Girl, the woman who sacrificed herself millions of times over just to save me. Me. A daft old Timelord with a Snog-Box."

Clara's lips twitched up into a smile at the mention of her nickname for the TARDIS. Her eyes flicked across his face, searching for any sign that what he was saying was true.

"Trust me when I say this, Clara. I will always save you. No matter his far apart we are, how desperate the situation is, I will find you, and I will save you. Never forget that."

They both found themselves leaning in, Clara's eyes fluttering closed and her stomach tightening in anticipation. Their lips were just millimetres from touching when the Doctor pulled back, sniffing at the air.

"Clara, do you smell burning?" asked the Doctor while poking his tongue out and tasting the air.

"What?" Clara reopened her eyes, disorientated by a combination of the toxins spreading through her body and the prospect that she had almost kissed the Doctor.

"I said, 'Can you smell-'"

"I heard what you said, Doctor." Clara interrupted. "What I meant was-"

The Doctor hushed her, pressing one finger against her lips to keep them shut. For a moment he looked on the verge of saying something to her about, you know, _the almost kiss, _but decided against it.

"Something's on fire," he whispered to cover up. Clara glared up him. They had come so close- _so close_- to kissing, and he was acting until nothing had happened. She was not happy.

"Doctor, you can't just..." her voice trailed off as she noticed a wisp of smoke curling from his outer pocket.

"What? I can't just what?"

When Clara didn't respond the Doctor followed her line of eyesight, eyebrows raising on surprise when he saw the smoke coming from his pocket.

"Oh."

The Doctor reluctantly unwrapped one arm from around Clara, leaving her clinging to his neck by her arms with his other arm supporting her knees, and gingerley poked his hand into the pocket, wincing and gasping when his fingertips came into contact with scorching hot metal. He flicked the object out of his pocket before it could cause any more damage and extinguished the flames with his hand.

Clara squinted through the smoke at the object. She didn't know if it was the chemicals in the smoke or her, but her chest seemed to be getting tighter with every passing second.

"Is that the TARDIS key?" Clara asked as the Doctor slipped his arm back to it's previous position around her.

"Seems like it. The TARDIS is trying to get to us, but someone or something is holding her back..."

The Doctor glanced down at Clara who was beginning to struggle to breathe.

"Are you alright?"

_Vworp_

The outline of the TARDIS appeared fleetingly around the Doctor and Clara then faded. Clara's head was spinning and every single bone in her body was as stiff as a board, pain lancing up and down her small frame.

"Clara? Can you hear me?"

Much to the Doctor's concern she doesn't respond, her eyes rolling in their sockets and her head killing backwards.

_Vworp_

The TARDIS stays for longer this time, enveloping the Doctor and Clara for a second or two before vanishing. The Doctor shook Clara, desperately trying to get her to open her eyes. She mumbled fitfully, burying her face into the crook of his elbow.

"Clara. CLARA!"

_Vworp Vworp Vworp_

The TARDIS materialised around them fully, completely encasing the Doctor and Clara within her walls. She materialised quickly, but not quite quick enough to hide Clara's convulsing and shaking from the lone security camera that watched silently from above.


	5. Chapter 5- Wake Up

The Doctor watched Clara as she slept in the Med Bay, listening to the sound of her breathing into the oxygen mask strapped to her face and the steady thrum of the machinery that was keeping her alive. Every so often her breath would hitch or the beeping of the heart monitor would falter and the Doctor would leap up, book falling to the floor, and rush to her aid only to discover that it was a false alarm. He would return to his seat, but only after he had double checked the readings from the various equipment scattered across the room and made sure that Clara was as comfortable as possible; re-tucking the duvet under her chin and refreshing the wet cloth on her forehead in an attempt to bring down her burning temperature. She had been through a lot that day, and the Doctor wanted her to rest for as long as possible to give her body ample time to heal and rejuvinate itself, to fight the illness that she had come down with. Because that was all it was, the Doctor told himself. A minor illness that, with lots of love and care, Clara would soon get over. Nothing to worry about. A few days on bed rest and she'd be right as rain in no time, and then they'd get back to travelling the universe. There were still civilisations to save and countless stars for him to show her. A hundred and one places left to see.

The Doctor sighed, reaching out a hand to run his fingers through Clara's hair, an action he wouldn't have dared to do if she was conscious for fear of being mercilessly teased.

"You can do it Clara." He mumbled. "Fight it for me. Come on. _Please._"

Clara groaned and shifted in her sleep, face subconsciously nuzzling into the Doctor's touch. He froze, hardly daring to breathe. _Was she waking up?_

The Doctor stared at her intently but when nothing happened he removed his hand from her silky hair and placed his face in them instead, letting out a long, shakey breath that he hadn't known he was holding. It wasn't in his nature for him to sit around so long, not even for Clara, and it was making him jumpy. He needed to get out, go somewhere, do something. He felt so helpless. He wanted to help Clara, but how?

He sat there, consumed by his own thoughts. She looked so peaceful; chestnut hair splayed out on the pillows under her head, nose wrinkling at something in her sleep. He smiled down at her. He never saw Clara as vulnerable as when she was sleeping. A sudden urge to protect her coursed through him. He would do anything, _anything, _to cure her, to stop her from ageing, to capture who she is at this moment and have her stay like it forever, his Impossible Girl. But she was only human, and like all humans will one day whither and die and he would be alone again, wandering in a universe that would hold no joy for him, no meaning, only serving as a reminder to all that he had lost.

He hadn't lost Clara yet, though. Not if he could help it.

Struck by an idea the Doctor removed his hand from where it was stroking Clara's cheek and rummaged through his pockets, unearthing a roll of sellotape, a ball of string, a banana and a barbie doll before triumphantly pulling out a notebook and a pen. He hastily scribbled a note to Clara explaining where he was going and not to worry, ripping it out and sellotaping it to the side of the dish that held the souffle he had made for her earlier as a surprise for her when she woke up.

"I'll be back." He promised her, stuffing the various contraband back into his jacket. He took one last look at her sleeping form before quietly leaving the room, locking the door behind him. He didn't want to come back to an empty Med Bay and an angry Clara lost in the TARDIS.

The Doctor jogged to the console room, leaping up the steps two at a time to where he could flick on the view screen and use the security camera in the Med Bay to keep an eye on Clara. The lighting in the console room was down low as any unimportant systems had been turned off to re-route more power to the life support system that was keeping Clara alive. Not that she really needed it, the Doctor was just being cautious. When it came to Clara he would take no chances.

Reassured by the live feed of Clara the Doctor sent the TARDIS spinning into flight, his long fingers nimbly navigating the many switches, dials and levers that coated the surfaces. He flew the TARDIS a little slower than usual so as not to disturb Clara. Although he was looking forward to her waking he wanted it to be because her body and mind had healed properly, not because the TARDIS had flung her out of bed. That, and he wanted to be there when she woke up. For medical purposes only, of course. Only now his brain was giving him images of Clara when she woke up in the mornings, with the bed hair that she hated but he secretly loved, the sleepy little smile and the adorable look that she'd give him before she realised she was doing it.

Not to mention the tiny pajamas she liked to wear.

The Doctor mentally and physically slapped himself. _Stop thinking about Clara like that, _he scolded himself. _She doesn't think of you like that. Why would she?_

The Doctor landed the TARDIS, trying to shove those thoughts of Clara aside, but the memory of her leaning in to kiss him seemed be imprinted across his vision. If she didn't love him, then why had she looked so happy when she moved towards him? The Doctor had an excellent memory, and he doubted that that one was ever going to be erased. The way her heart had thumped as she pressed it against his own, her chocolate eyes that he loved so much shut, her full red lips parted-

The TARDIS let off an unnecessarily loud hum, jolting the Doctor out of his thoughts and promptly tripping over his feet on surprise, bashing a leg against the edge of the console.

"Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow!" He moaned rubbing his shin. "What was that for?"

The TARDIS stared down at him. The Doctor could almost feel the dissaproval burning holes in his head. He had forgotten that the TARDIS was telepathic.

"Yeah, yeah, I know old girl. Rule number one-Don't fall in love. Bit too late now though, eh? She's got me."

The TARDIS made a noise half between amusement and exasperation.

"Sorry, Sexy." He leaned against the console, watching Clara's breath mist in her mask. "I thought you liked her?"

The TARDIS hummed in agreement. Ever since Trenzalore the Type 40 had had a newfound respect for his companion and the two, after a shakey start, had become firm friends much to the Doctor's delight. Clara could even click her fingers to make the doors open and shut, something none of his companions, not even River, could achieve.

The Doctor smiled and patted the time rotors. "You take care of her while I'm gone Sexy. No tricks." He warned. Despite their friendship, the TARDIS still liked to wind her up every so often. Clara was just as bad though, messing with the decor and deliberately shaking her umbrella everywhere. It had become a sort of game to them, that the TARDIS usually won.

The TARDIS's humming went up a pitch.

"Thanks old girl."

The Doctor turned to leave but was stopped by a pricking sensation at the nape of his neck.

"What? What is it?"

A test tube slid out of the panel on the far side of the console. The Doctor reached over and plucked it out of the socket, weighing it in his hand before tucking it safely away in the depths of his coat. He stroked the console fondly.

"What would I do without you, eh?"

With that the Doctor turned on his heel and left, pausing at the doors for one last fleeting look at Clara before stepping out into the unknown.


	6. Chapter 6- Hopeless

Clara woke up slowly, eyes gradually adjusting to the dim lighting. She pulled herself into a sitting position and stretched feeling her muscles pop and crack, wincing as her battered and bruised body screamed protest at her sudden movements. She felt like death. But at least she was alive.

Too tired to move just yet, or to question why she was hooked up to so many machines, Clara let her gaze wander around the room, fingers scratching at the straps of her oxygen mask as her eyes landed on the partially charred soufflé the Doctor had baked for her. She grinned, reaching out an arm to pluck the note off the side of the dish. The fact that the Doctor had taken the time to attempt a soufflé, charred as it was, made her feel ridiculously happy. A warm glow spread through her, gently heating her body from her chest right the way down to the roots of her hair and the tips of her toes. She knew it was madness to think that the Doctor had baked it because he loved her, he only viewed her as a friend, but...the gesture made her feel loved, and nobody had made her feel like that for a long time.

_Oh, you clever boy._

She eagerly dug into the soufflé, taking extra care to avoid the sections that were burnt beyond recognition. With one hand she unfolded the note, recognising the Doctor's untidy scrawl, and loaded up the spoon with another morsel as she began to read.

_Clara,_

_I've gone to New New New New Earth. Don't worry, I'm coming back. I'm going to find you a cure for whatever it is that that monster injected into you._

Clara began to tremble at the memory. She would forever live in fear of the man returning to finish her off. She took a deep breath through her mask and shovelled in another bite to calm herself before continuing.

_I won't be long, I promise. Two hours tops. Do not, under any circumstances, disconnect yourself from your life support machine. Even if a thousand Daleks are banging down the door. I can defeat Daleks. I can't bring you back to life._

_Stay safe._

_Love,_

_The Doctor._

_P.S Hope you liked the soufflé._

Clara finished off the soufflé then placed it and the note on her bedside table. What was she to do for two whole hours? It's not like she could explore the TARDIS like she usually would, not in the state she was in with all the tubes connecting her to the life support system. She was weak; the simple action of eating the soufflé had taken it out of her. No, she needed to find something else to do.

Clara yawned loudly, rolling onto her side facing the machinery that was looking after her. It was so peaceful lying here in the TARDIS, all alone. Normally it was chaos, fighting monsters, flirting and running around in heels that killed her feet after about ten steps. She knew that she should wear shoes that were a little more practical, but the Doctor was tall enough even _with _her wearing eight-inch heels. She sometimes felt like one of those Ompa-loompas, looking up at the Doctor like one of the tiny people would Willy Wonka. Small and insignificant against a man so tall and powerful and _alien _as him. A candle against his raging inferno.

Clara drifted off into sleep, finally succumbing to the various aches and pains that plagued her body. She had just begun to snore lightly when-

"Psst, Clara. Wake up, sleepy head." A familiar voice half sang next to her.

Clara started awake, gaping at the figure standing next to her.

"_Doctor?_" She asked incredilously. In the back of her mind alarm bells began to ring. He wasn't supposed to be back for at least an hour yet.

"The very same." Replied the Doctor, throwing her a cheeky wink. Clara froze, her hands outstretched towards him for a hug. Something was wrong. The Doctor almost never winked. Well, not usually; it was only when he wanted her to do something completely insane like distract a horde of angry Slitheen or to reassure her that everything was going to be okay. Which, on reflection, happened quite a lot.

Clara's arms fell to her sides and she frowned. She was neither in danger nor in need of reassurance. So why was he winking?

Then it hit her.

This wasn't the Doctor.

Clara could only watch in horror as 'the Doctor's' skin melted like wax, revealing a face that she had hoped never to see again.

"Hello again girly. Did you miss me?"

* * *

><p>The Doctor paced back and forth in the waiting room restlessly, wringing his hands. How long had the doctor said she'd be? Fifteen minutes. He impatiently flicked his wrist up, checking the time on his watch. The Doctor didn't trust hospital clocks. They were always either a few minutes fast, an hour behind or not working. Useless things. You would think that, as it was the 50th Century, humans would be able to make decent clocks. Evidently not.<p>

Twenty minutes and twelve seconds. _That's the human race for you, _grumbled the Doctor to himself._They tell you one time then turn up an hour late. Or four, _he noted, glancing at the clock on the wall, _if you use their sad excuses for clocks. At least Clara's always on time._

The Doctor was about to go and find Doctor Whyatt himself when the woman herself bursted through the door panting and brandishing several sheets of papers covered in graphs and statistics.

_Clara's results. About time._

Doctor Kim Whyatt leant against the door frame, face flushed with exertion and several strands of dark blonde hair loose from her ponytail.

"Doctor!" She beckoned him over. "You need to see these."

Ignoring the confused and alarmed stares of his fellows the Doctor rushed to the door, snatching the results from Kim's fingers. He rifled through the various papers, reading faster than humanly possible, face becoming more and more grief stricken with every page he scanned.

_Oh, Clara..._

"That substance in the sample you gave us is unlike anything we've encountered," Kim began, bent over double to catch her breath. She had forgotten how hectic the Doctor could be. "Its composition is insane. No, more than insane- its downright _wrong. _Its almost as if somebody's thrown in every type of cancer, sickness bug, cold and flu and mixed them together to make one lethal virus. Just one drop of this stuff could potentially be fatal." Kim straightened up, smoothing the creases in her scrubs.

"What species is your friend, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Human," the Doctor murmured, not lifting his eyes from a passage on the final page. "Twenty-first century female. Called Clara."

Kim noticed his anguished expression when he said Clara's name and gently placed a hand on his tense forearm.

"We will help her Doctor. Not everything on that document is a hundred percent accurate. We can at least try to cure her."

The Doctor nodded, then shoved the papers under her nose, pointing to a single passage at the end.

"And this?" He demanded, "is this accurate? A hundred percent?"

Kim shifted uncomfortably under his accusing gaze. She hated seeing him like this, so agitated. And what she was about to say to him was going to whip him up into an even bigger frenzy.

"As far as we know...yes. But as I said earlier, this virus is unlike anything we've ever encountered. Things could-"

The Doctor had long since stopped listening. His fists tightened around the paper, tears blurring his vision.

_No. No. It won't happen. It _can't _happen._

He crumpled the paper and threw it into the bin with so much force it fell over, contents spilling across the floor earning him tuts from several people behind him. He ignored them. He needed to get back to Clara. He couldn't think properly what with all the noise and pain, physical and emotional, around him. He hated hospitals.

The Doctor went to barge out the door but Kim stopped him, placing a hand in his chest.

"You're upset." She stated. "I know I would be, if I were you."

The Doctor glared down at her and tried to pick her up to move her out of his way. One thought was replaying itself over and over in his head:

_Get back to Clara._

She was his medicine, a balm for every wound he had. He desperately needed another dose to ease the pain. Just holding her would be enough.

"Please Kim, let me go." He almost begged the woman in front of him. "I need her."

Kim rolled her eyes. "She's not a teddy bear, you love struck fool."

The Doctor pouted and she sighed.

"Ask her first, okay? The poor girl doesn't need you clinging on to her like an over sized Koala bear. Not in her state."

"Alright, alright. I'll ask. Its usually her that hugs me though," he added. "Not that I'm complaining, mind."

Kim raised an eyebrow and gave him the look that only she could do. "Moving on swiftly," she said, "I have something for you." She pressed a paper bag into his hands. "These tablets should slow down the virus. She'll get better, for a while, but she might not be able to walk that well. If that happens, come to us and we'll get her a wheelchair. Got that?"

The Doctor nodded, mumbling his thanks as he tucked the bag away in his blazer.

"No problem. We'll phone you if theres any advances." Kim promised then removed her hand from his chest and stepped away from the door. The Doctor lurched away his now undistracted mind cruelly replaying the final sentence in the document.

_Chances of survival: Five percent._


	7. Chapter 7- Tell Him Who I Am

Clara's reaction to him was immediate. She scurried backwards on all fours as fast as she could, not stopping until she hit the head board with a loud bump. She drew her legs up to her chest, remembering the Doctor's note and checking that her oxygen mask and tubes were still functional from her sudden movement. She didn't once take her eyes off of the man as she did so, her skin a deathly pale in colour and hands shaking. After she was done she clasped them firmly around her knees to hide the tell-tale tremors of fear from him, but by the smirk on his face she could tell that he had already seen.

"You," Clara breathed through her mask, "what're you doing here? Come to finish me off?"

The man chuckled. "On the contrary, Miss Oswald. That's the last thing I would want to do. I just popped by to say hello."

Clara eyed him warily. He wanted something, she was sure of it. Why else would he risk showing his face in the TARDIS, right under the Doctor's nose?

"What do you want from me? You can't have come here for nothing." She demanded. The longer she stalled him for, the more likely it was that the Doctor would get back in time to stop him. She had to keep him talking.

The man laughed. "I don't want anything from you girly." He sat on her bed, the mattress dipping so they were closer together than Clara would have liked. She pushed herself as far away from him as she could, putting space between them while still close to her life support. She flinched as he laced his fingers behind his head and lay down, looking completely at ease. The TARDIS had always been a safe refuge for Clara, the one place that she could come to and forget about the real world and the stresses of life, lose herself in the Doctor's world. The man's presence was unnatural; a violation of the peace and order of what Clara considered to be her second home. She knew that after this experience ended she would never be able to step foot in the Med-Bay ever again. The room would be steeped in bad memories.

"Frankly, I'm disappointed by you Clara." The man said, unlacing one hand so he could inspect his finger nails.

"Disappointed?" Repeated Clara, hating how her voice shook when she spoke.

"Yes. After all, aren't you the woman that split yourself into thousands of copies to save the Doctor? The Woman Twice Dead. You left quite the mark on the universe. And now look at you. Brought down low by one man."

Clara shrugged. "I'm not a God." She told him, inwardly praying that the Doctor would turn up soon. The last thing she wanted was to be kidnapped again, and she had a nasty feeling that that was where this conversation was heading.

"Maybe not, but you're in love with one." He said seriously. Despite herself, Clara had to laugh. The Doctor? A God?

The man gave her a sideways look. "Oh, of course. He hasn't let you see what he's capable of. Doesn't want to frighten you. How very sweet, Doctor. How very _loving._"

Clara's laughter subsided at the man's menacing tone. Playtime was over. She glanced at the open doorway hopefully, but there was no Doctor. She was going to have to sit this one out, completely at the man's mercy. She broke out into a cold sweat just thinking about it.

Opposite her the man stands up, the mattress creaking as it reverted to its usual lumpy self.

"So Clara, I hope you enjoyed my visit. I certainly did." He flashed her a smile. "It was..._enlightening._"

Clara shrugged. "Can't say I feel the same way."

The man laughed. "You know, I admire you, Miss Oswald. I tie you to a chair, torment you, crush your hopes and dreams, scare the hell out of you whenever I come too close, and yet you still answer back and sass me. I can see why the Doctor travels with you. I would relish the challenge of breaking you."

Clara sat there, unsure what to say. She hadn't been expecting the man to compliment her, of all things. She had been prepared for insults, threats and possible kidnap. Not this. What game was he playing with her?

Her thoughts were interrupted abruptly when the man suddenly turned, grabbing her elbows and slamming them into the head board. She bit her lip, suppressing a cry of pain as something was ripped from her arm.

"Unfortunately, I have neither the time nor the inclination to do so. Shame. I would have _so _enjoyed watching you scream."

Clara shivered, at his words and his breath on her cheek. He was way too close for comfort, leaning over her like that. She twisted in his grip, trying to dislodge him, but he pressed his knee to her stomach, effectively stopping her.

He tuts. "Uh uh uh, girly. I have a little job for you before I go." He whispered into her ear, making Clara want to throw up.

"W-w-what?" She stuttered.

The man chuckled. "Not so cocky now, are we?"

Clara felt another tug at her elbow. What was he doing? Nothing good, she was sure.

"Your job is this: Tell him who I am."

_Is that all? _thought Clara, relieved. She had feared that it was going to be much worse. She began to pull away but he held her there firmly, not finished with her just yet.

"You tell him who I am, and watch as his face goes pale and he shakes with fear. You watch as your protector loses all hope, all reason, as he tries to defeat me. Because I will win. I win every game I play."

He finally released her, moving away slightly but not removing his knee from her stomach. Clara didn't know if it was her or his knee, but she was having trouble breathing again.

_What's wrong with me?_

The man watched her, his face smug as he leaned in one final time.

"I am always one step ahead, Clara. Tell him that, too."

"But...what's...your...name?" Clara panted.

"Oh, you already know."

"I...do...?"

The man kissed her on the cheek then leapt off her. Clara fought the urge to slap him.

"Oh yes. Good night girly." He waved jauntily, one hand full of tubes, before fiddling with a device on his arm and vanishing. At the last moment he threw them, landing in a heap on her lap. Clara gazed down at them, head swimming. _Where had he got them from? And why did he think she knew his name?_

Dots appeared in her vision as she sucked in air. _What had he done to her?_

She rubbed her sore elbow and her heart skipped several beats. She looked down at it to make sure and nearly forgot to breathe. In the crook of her arm, where there should have been drips supplying her body with the chemicals it needed to survive, was nothing save some Gallifreyan symbols.

He had ripped the tubes from her arm.

Clara panicked and her head spun, body falling backwards as it began to shut down. She was only half-aware of a man shouting her name in the far distance and a hand tenderly catching her head and lowering it back onto the pillows as she blacked out.


	8. Chapter 8-Don't Go

The Doctor drummed his fingers impatiently on his leg, one foot tapping an irregular beat on the tiled floor. He never once took his eyes off of the sleeping woman that was nestled under the duvet in front of him drinking in every detail; every smile, every frown, every sleepy mumble that she made. It wouldn't be long before she woke up, and he wanted to enjoy the ignorance on her features before he spoilt it. Should he really tell her what he had learnt? He had to. Clara would want to know. Even if he didn't tell her straight away she would wheedle it out of him one way or another and she'd no doubt be furious that he had kept something this big to himself. No, he would tell her the moment she woke up. She'd prefer it coming from him sooner rather than later. All too soon Clara began to stir, duvet rustling as her round face peeked out from within the folds of the fabric.

"Hello, sleepy-head." He said warmly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the sight of her bedraggled hair and dopey expression. He could never stay depressed around her for long, her very presence enough to calm him, to soothe almost every wound he had. Not all, but most. There were some wounds that even Clara couldn't completely heal. The Doctor quickly slammed the door shut on the bad memories that were threatening to surface and instead watched her as she slowly blinked sleep out of her eyes. Even with her make-up smeared and red, puffy eyes she was still one of the most beautiful people he had ever clapped eyes on.

"Did you miss me?" He reached out a hand to brush a few runaway strands of hair behind her hair but stops when he notices how terrified of him she looks; body shaking, arms crossed protectively over her chest a look both parts horror and fear etched into her features. _She's afraid of me_, he realised with a jolt. The Doctor raised his hands upwards, palms outward in the universal symbol for 'I surrender' and took a sneaky look at the bedside table where he had left the souffle. It was eaten, the note next to it read and re-folded neatly. Even if Clara hadn't seen them there was no reason for her to be acting like this. He had expected her to be angry for leaving her, not scared that he had come back. As much as Clara scared him when she was angry, the Doctor would prefer her to be like that than the crushing alternative that was in front of him.

"Clara, it's me." The Doctor said slowly, extending one hand slowly like a vet would when approaching an injured animal to gain it's trust. "The Doctor." Clara flinched and recoiled from him, pulling the duvet right the way up to her chin. The Doctor was panicked and hurt. What had he done wrong? He had rescued her from the Testing Facility, definitely not a bad thing. Okay, so he had been a little too late to stop permanent damage from being done but he was doing everything in his power to make it up to her. Not for his own peace of mind, but for her's. Clara's life always came before his, no matter the situation. Her life was worth more to him than all of his put together. He returned his hands to his legs, rubbing them against the rough fabric of his trousers nervously. Across from him Clara pushed her hands into her hair and lodged them there tightly, gripping so hard that the Doctor swore he could hear a few of the roots ripping free of her scalp.

"Please Clara. Tell me what's wrong," he begged, hands twisting awkwardly in his lap. He desperately wanted to pull her over to him and wrap her in a hug, but he knew that would just freak her out even more and make the situation worse.

"What's wrong? Oh, you know what's wrong." Clara laughed bitterly inbetween sobs. She looked insane. "You kidnapped me, injected me with some drug...thingy, then just when I think I've finally escaped from you you waltz right back into my life impersonating one of the few people that I love-"

The Doctor's hearts skipped a beat. Could she actually love him? He pushed the thought aside quickly. Now was not the time for this, not when Clara was collapsed in tears in front of him. She might not have meant love love anyway. She more than likely had meant it as a friend. What worried him more was who she was talking about. It sounded like the man had come back while he was gone, which would explain why Clara's tubes had been missing from her arm when he came back from the hospital. _If he comes back here again, no, if he goes near Clara again, I won't be so merciful as I was last time we met_, The Doctor silently promised. He knew who it was. It had been obvious from the first time they spoke through the sound system, but he'd been to intent on finding Clara to pay any attention. If he had, he might have just been able to get her out of the Facility unscathed. Yet another mistake to add to the very long list in his head.

"-and you expect me to fall for it every time and do as you say! I'll tell him, I swear! Just leave me alone!" Clara's eyes met the Doctor's and his hearts shattered. She looked sad, scared, hopeless but still defiant, all at the same time. The urge to hold her and calm her down and to never let go was overwhelming, but instead he got to his knees on the floor. Begging her. Clara looked surprised for an instance but then replaced it with her 'I'm-really-not-impressed' look that the Doctor usually saw when he was trying to impress her. Which was often.

"Change back. End this sick game." She demanded.

"I can't." The Doctor replied softly, gazing into her eyes, inwardly admiring their size and shape. Clara held it for a second before looking past him at the dirty souffle dish on the side, eyes welling with tears. She opened her mouth to speak but the Doctor cut across her. He had a feeling that if he didn't he wouldn't get a word in edgeways.

"I can't change Clara, because I am me. No funny business, I swear." After a moments hesitation he reached across and laid his hands on top of hers on the duvet. She tensed, but didn't pull away. "I'm sorry he got to you again. I was stupid, so stupid, to think that he wouldn't come for you. The TARDIS is only a small obstacle when it comes to him. This is all my fault, I'm sorry Clara." He shook his head ruefully, fingers tracing the faint lines in the soft skin of Clara's palms. "I took you with me to protect you and look what happened." He whispered. The Doctor felt physically sick about what he had let happen to her. But when he thought about it, deep down, he had always known that he would have ended up hurting her one way or another. Something like this always happens, the constant curse that he subjects all his friends to. Why? Because he was old, and selfish, and couldn't bear the thought of travelling alone. In a way it would have been much easier if he had ignored the enigma that was Clara Oswald and left her on Earth to live out her life happy, with friends, a constant job and maybe a family of her own one day. Sure, she had the job, but he had effectively ended the rest of her normal life the moment he asked her to travel with him. He would rather be dead by his grave on Trenzalore than subject her to this. Clara deserved better than what he could offer, however much she may deny it. But no, he had to whisk her away to see the universe and fling them headfirst into danger at every turn. He really hated himself sometimes.

The Doctor had no idea he was crying until Clara wiped the tears away tenderly with her small, soft hands. Her expression was unreadable but the Doctor was pretty sure he had managed to convince her by the way she was erasing the rapidly falling tears with steady fingers, her breaths slow and calm through her mask. His Clara was back. They stayed silent for a few minutes, the only sounds being the beeping of the moniters and the occasional sob on the Doctor's part. Eventually the tears stopped and Clara removed her hands from his cheeks. The Doctor pouted and chased them with his own to place them back but she dodged out of his way with a small laugh, draping them over his shoulders instead. The Doctor laughed with her and grabbed ahold of her waist, pulling her as close to him as the tubes would allow, her feet dangling off the bed. He placed his hands awkwardly either side of her thighs for balance all to aware of the space, or distinct lack of it, between them. Clara's arms tightened around his neck.

"It's not your fault," she said quietly, "you couldn't have known he was here."

"I shouldn't have left you in the first place." He argued.

"You had to. Don't beat yourself up about it, okay? I'm shaken, yes, but fine. Just don't leave me like that again."

"I won't." He promised, kissing her forehead.

She smiled. "Good. Speaking of you leaving, that New New Earth place. What did you do?"

The Doctor got the feeling that she was trying to change the subject to something a little less heavy. If only she knew.

"It's New New New New Earth, actually." He corrected playfully.

She rolled her eyes and swatted his arm."You knew what I meant. Now tell me what happened."

"Yes, Miss." He teased her. He had missed their friendly banter.

Clara scowled and wriggled out from his arms. "That's it. No more hugs for you until you tell me what you were doing."

"Why? What do you think I was doing?" The Doctor made a grab for her but she scooted away from him, giggling.

"I dunno." She replied, shrugging. "You tell me."

The Doctor made a mock angry face at her and sat on the bed with his back to her. "C'mere, you." He growled, dragging her by her ankle towards him gently. She squealed and shook her leg free.

"Nope. Not until you-"

"Okay, Okay, you win." He gave in, flapping an arm in her direction. He could never last long in a fight against her.

"I always do."

He smiled briefly at her before staring down into his lap. How was he going to tell her about the results? He couldn't find the right words. How could anyone in this situation? As if she had sensed what he was thinking about Clara hugged him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder, comforting him.

"Whatever it is you can tell me," she whispered, "I won't judge."

He placed one hand on her arm and rubbed it while he thought. Just tell her.

"I took a sample of your blood to a hospital there. They ran some tests, found out what was wrong." He said finally, running the hand that wasn't occupied through his hair.

"And?" Clara prompted.

He sighed. "There's no cure for what he infected you with."

The Doctor felt Clara freeze behind him. He turned around and pulled her into his lap, resting her head on his chest while rubbing her back in circles. "We have the best doctor working on the case, but..." He sighed again as Clara looked up at him. Tears rolled slowly over her cheekbones and left tracks streaked down her face. Oh, Clara. He took her oxygen mask off and unplugged it from the tank. She reached out for it but he held her back. "You don't need it anymore," he told her as he removed one hand to brush away her tears.

Clara nodded. "I know. It's just that it was kind of reassuring."

He dropped a kiss into her hair then continued to rub her back. He could feel some of the muscles were rock hard with tension and so he massaged them until she relaxed into his hand. To be honest, Clara wasn't freaking out as much as he thought she would. In a way, it worried him. Shouldn't she be having a breakdown by now? Then again, that might have just been him overreacting. He couldn't expect her to act to the same extreme that he had. Still... He pinched her chin lightly between his thumb and fore finger, lifting it so he could see her properly.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.

She nodded slowly. "I think so."

"Sure?"

"Yep." She turned her face back into his chest. "It seems surreal, like its just a bad dream and I'll wake up and it will be Wednesday, you banging my door down to take me away."

The Doctor smiled sadly at her. "I wish."

Clara sighed then buried her face into her hands. "Oh God," she all but wailed, "what are we going to tell my Dad? He's already lost my mum and-"

"Shhh, calm down." The Doctor told her. "We'll tell him when you're ready, OK?"

"We?" She half gaped at him.

"Yes, we. Why, do you not want me? Here, I mean." He cursed himself for his slip up, but she didn't seem to notice.

"I thought that now I'm ill that you wouldn't, you know...want me onboard." She said in a rush.

The Doctor frowned. "Of course I want you onboard. We can't go travelling for a while though, not until you're feeling better."

Clara grinned. "Fine by me."

"While we're on the subject of you feeling better, I have some medicine for you," he said, producing a paper bag from his pocket.

"I thought you said that there wasn't a cure?"

"No, there isn't." He dropped a couple of the round grey tablets into a glass and filled it with bottled water one handed. "These slow it down. Drink up." He passed her the cup and she gulped it down, pulling a face.

"Tastes disgusting. Figures." The Doctor laughed and took the cup from her, placing it next to the note and soufflé. Clara yawned.

"Tired?"

Clara nodded.

"Off to bed with you then."

"I seem to spend most of my time in bed nowadays." she grumbled.

"You need to rest so the medicine can work." The Doctor said sternly. He gently pulled the tubes out of her arm and she gasped.

"Clara?"

She waved a hand. "It's OK, I'm fine. Just feels a little weird without them." She tapped her elbow.

"Well, if you're sure..."

"I am." She yawned again. "Sorry." He laughed and picked her up, moving her back up the bed to her pillows and tucking her in.

"Good night." He whispered, pulling the duvet up to her chin and kissing her head. She shifted under his touch and mumbled something to him that he didn't quite catch. He waited a few seconds so if it was important she could say it again, but she said nothing. He shrugged to himself, walking away. If it was important she'd tell him when she awoke. The Doctor was almost to the end of the bed when a pair of fingers brushed his wrist, making him pause.

"_Don't go_."

He turned around to look at Clara, forcing himself to remain cool and collected, when in reality he was throwing a mini party in his head. Clara was sat bolt upright, one hand outstretched for his. He took it immediately, his other hand grabbing his chair and setting it down next to where she was laying.

"I-I- you don't have to-" Clara face flushed with embarrassment.

"It's OK, Clara, really. Of course I'll stay." He sat down, taking her hand in both of his. She smiled and burrowed back into the bed.

"Thank you."

"Anytime."

He traced nonsensical patterns into her hand as she fell asleep. He had no idea what he was doing, but judging by the contented look on Clara's face she seemed to like it. He leaned forward onto his elbows and a strip of black ink on Clara's arm caught his eye. He frowned, pushing back the duvet to expose a row of Gallifreyan symbols. Gallifreyan symbols that spelt the name of the man that the Doctor now hated the most. Fenric.

**A/N So you finally know who it is! I'm guessing that most of you don't know who he is, so for you guys, heres a website (basically, its Wikipedia Doctor Whoified) with the history on just who the hell this really evil guy is and why he's got it in for the Doctor (because to explain it all on here would take at least another ten chapters): wiki/Fenric **

**-Jazz**


	9. Chapter 9- Secrets and Burdens

Clara woke up the next morning feeling ridiculously happy. She lay there in the soft sheets of the bed for a moment, a huge grin on her face, enjoying the sensation. It felt like ages since she had last been this at peace. Three days to be precise. She supposed it was down to three things:

1. She felt miles better than the day before. That medicine the Doctor had brought her had really done the trick; all of her aches, pains and general sickness had subsided. Clara was buzzing with pent-up energy.

2. The man had left. For good.

3. The third, and probably most likely reason for her unusually good mood, was that her hand was still firmly encased by the Doctor's own. So tightly, in fact, that her whole arm had pins and needles from lack of circulation. Clara pushed herself up onto one elbow and wiggled her fingers in a half-hearted attempt to dislodge the Doctor without waking him. As much as she enjoyed the feeling of his large hands holding her own she did have things to do today, none of which included lazing around in bed with a numb hand that was likely to drop off any second.

"Doctor," she hissed, shaking her hand more violently than before. She winced as the pins and needles increased. Her entire arm felt like a rubber flipper. The Doctor shifted in his seat at the sound of her voice and tugged her hand even closer to him, jerking Clara in such a way that she was now hanging on her front over the edge of the bed, face inches from his knee.

Great.

Clara swung herself sideways out of the bed awkwardly, overbalancing a touch and narrowly missing the Doctor's lap. She grabbed his shoulder and righted herself quickly, breathing a sigh of relief. That could have gone much worse.

_Or better,_Her subconscious reminded her._ You could have fallen into his lap..._

Clara ignored her and instead prised her hand out of the Doctor's own. It took some doing; for a skinny man the Doctor was deceptively strong, his grip increasing every time Clara created a gap in his hold. Eventually she resorted to slipping a rolled up blanket from her bed into the space where her hand was, ducking out of the way from him in the few brief seconds that the change over took place. Clara massaged the feeling back into her arm as the Doctor moved restlessly in his chair. When he didn't wake up Clara tip toed around his sleeping figure and slipped out of the med bay, leaving the door ajar so she knew which one it was to go back to. The corridors of the TARDIS looked exactly the same and no matter how many times the Doctor bothered to show her around Clara could never remember where anything was. Apart from her room, which was where she was headed.

Clara padded down the corridor cautiously. She really needed to shower. She felt unclean, like all of the misfortunes of the past few days had clung to her like dirt. Her skin itched constantly and she scratched her arms as she searched for her room. It took her a while to find it but when she did she hesitated outside of the familiar metal door, hand resting against the button in the wall next to it. Something felt different. She shuddered, goosebumps forming on her arms. In appearance everything was the same. The grey metal of the walls, the pipes that ran above her head, her name engraved into the door with the Gallifreyan, written by the Doctor's own hand, on the plaque underneath. She hadn't wanted it initially but the Doctor had insisted. The gesture touched her, but it reminded her too much of her Time Lord self for her to be entirely at ease with the idea. Every time she passed it the symbols had made her body stiffen, as if it was remembering some event that was too much for her brain to let her see. However that feeling disappeared when, wandering around the TARDIS one day, she had stumbled across some ex-companions' old rooms and had been surprised to see that none of them had the same plaque with their name on it. That, coupled with how the Doctor would run his fingers over the runes with a smile every time he saw them, erased any uneasiness Clara had felt about them. If her Doctor was happy, so was she.

Clara pulled her mind back to the present and opened the door, shrugging off the sense of foreboding as she stepped onto the white carpet of her small but comfortable bedroom. She took a look around to check for any differences from her last visit but everything was exactly where she left it. Clara scolded herself for being so jumpy and grabbed a towel from the cupboard next to her wardrobe. She was still wound up from the after effects of the testing facility, her imagination running wild with scenarios of what the man would think to do to her next. Now that Clara knew that the TARDIS was no shield when it came to him she was almost constantly afraid that he would pop up when she least expected it.

_All the more reason for me to take a shower,_ she thought. _I can wash away the pain of the last few days and relax. Think things through. _

Clara still had no idea how she was going to break the news to her Dad. She could already picture his reaction in her head- the disbelief, then shock and finally tears as he came to terms with it all again. She knew that this would shatter him into tiny pieces, losing his only daughter. It would be her Mother all over again, only this time there would be nobody to pull him through the other side of his grieving.

_Maybe I should take the Doctor with me to meet him. That way they could help each other out._

Clara went through to her en suite bathroom pulling the light cord as she set her things on the floor. The room was a modest size, just large enough to fit a bath tub and a separate shower cubicle. The floor tiles were a clean white, the walls a red and white check carrying on the theme of her bedroom. The Doctor had wanted to make it just as lavish as her bedroom but she had refused on the grounds that she hated him spending so much money on her (he had decorated both rooms himself, with materials he had bought from B&Qs. Clara had tried to dissuade him as the TARDIS was more than happy to build it herself but the Doctor had insisted, saying that it added a 'personal' touch. In the end Clara let him, retreating to the library as the Doctor had wanted it to be a surprise). He had grumbled initially, but cheered up when she promised to stay over for a week once it had been completed. When it was he had rushed to the swimming pool where she had been practising her diving skills.

***Flashback * **

**"Done!" the Doctor beamed at Clara exuberantly, flinging his paint brush triumphantly into the pot on the floor next to him. In his hurry to get to Clara he had forgotten to put it down, instead rushing through the corridor, paint slopping over the rim and onto the TARDIS floor. He hadn't even bothered to take off his overalls. **

**"I can't hear you!" Clara yelled across the pool on the top diving board. The Doctor eyed her cautiously, more than slightly nervous at how high up she was. He had never seen Clara dive before and had a bad feeling that it was not going to go well. Not at that height. **

**"Can you come down?" the Doctor shouted. **

**Clara leaned over the rail, frustrated. The pool between them was warping their voices beyond recognition. She could only hear a soft burble where there should be clear sounds coming from the Doctor's mouth. **

**"I'm coming down!" She shouted, miming diving at him. "Hang on!" She took a run up and launched herself off the edge, turning a somersault. She hit the water at a slight angle, but otherwise it was one of her best dives to date. She surfaced, grinning at the Doctor's awe struck expression. She swam over to him and pulled herself out of the pool. **

**"If you don't stop gawping soon you'll catch flies." Clara teased, reaching around him to get her towel from the side. The Doctor flushed as she wrapped herself in the towel. **

**"I was not gawping!" He said indignantly. **

**Clara raised an eyebrow at him. The Doctor waved an arm at the bikini she was wearing under the towel. **

**"And anyway, you're the one diving in a extremely small bikini into a pool that we both use!" **

**"So? I am allowed to wear a bikini you know. Unless, of course, you find it too distracting. In which case I can always take it off." Clara fought to keep the smile off her face as the Doctor squirmed in front of her. He was unusually inexperienced with women for a thousand year old alien, something that Clara liked to use against him. It was kind of adorable watching him struggle to cope when she flirted. **

**"No! I- I- I didn't-" He stuttered, setting the paint pot by his feet and ripping off the apron. Clara just stood there, arms folded. **

**"Oh yes you did." **

**"You cheeky little-" The Doctor threw an unprepared Clara over his shoulder and jogged out of the pool and down the corridor. **

**"Hey! You can't just kidnap me!" Clara pounded her fists on his back. Of all the reactions she had imagined, she hadn't quite expected one like this. **

**"Watch me!" the Doctor shot back, tightening his grip round her waist and hefting her higher on his shoulder. **

**"For a small girl, you ain't half heavy." he complained, panting. **

**Clara cuffed him round the back of the head. "Do you want to live to see your next regeneration?" **

**The Doctor didn't answer. Clara rested her chin on her hand, feeling a little like Princess Fiona from Shrek. _Although, the Doctor's more like Donkey than Shrek,_ Clara smiled to herself.**

** "Where are we going anyway?" She asked, bored. They'd been travelling for ten minutes and her stomach was beginning to ache. **

**"The bedroom." Came the Doctor's reply. **

**"You what?" **

**"Your bedroom." The Doctor repeated. "I finished it earlier. Its the whole reason I got you." **

**"Oh." **

**"Why? What did you think I meant?" **

**Clara couldn't see his face from her position, but she could imagine the smug smile he was wearing. **

**"Nothing." She said quickly. Too quickly. The Doctor chuckled. **

**"Liar." The Doctor accused. **

**"Am not!" Clara argued back childishly. **

**"Are too." The Doctor flipped her so she was now lying in his arms bridle style. "Look at those cheeks," he taunted, pinching one between his thumb and fore finger, "They're like tomatoes." Clara clamped her hands over the cherry red of her face. **

**"Shut up." The Doctor laughed and kissed the hand covering her cheek. Clara went even redder. **

**"Thought so." **

**"Here we are," the Doctor halted outside her door and let her out of his arms. Clara looked away from him and adjusted her towel, trying to preserve what was left of her tattered dignity. She walked towards the door but before she could get too far the Doctor pulled her back to him, covering her eyes with his hands. **

**"Let me." he said, opening the door and gently guiding her inside. Clara took baby steps, her bare feet bouncing on the fluffy carpet as the Doctor led her into position. **

**"Okay. You can look." His hands left her eyes and arm. Clara cracked open one eye, half afraid of what she would see. The Doctor didn't strike her as the sort of person that was good at DIY, so this could be...interesting. **

**"Wow. This is just...wow." Clara said in awe. She opened the other eye and took a good look around. Three of the four walls were made of brick, the remaining one on the right hand side painted a deep red. Framed paintings covered the walls, each one depicting an adventure her and the Doctor had had. The carpet was white and fluffy, the ceiling slanted downward to the left. The bed took up most of the room, a circular king-size strewn with cushions. Other bits of furniture were placed around the room; a chest of drawers; a wardrobe; a desk with a chair and brand new laptop ready to use. Book cases that stretched from floor to ceiling leant against a section of the wall filled with first editions of her favourite novels. A second door led off into a small en suite bathroom, and a window across from her was flung open, the simulated summer breeze in the TARDIS causing the crimson curtains to flutter. **

**Clara stood there and gaped at it all. It was the perfect mix of her old room at the Maitland's, her new room in her apartment and her childhood one that her Mother would sing her to sleep in. It was everything she wanted, and more. Her life with a little of the Doctor's thrown in. **

**A pair of arms embraced her in a hug and Clara relaxed into it, resting her head in the crook of his neck. **

**"Do you like it?" The Doctor asked softly. **

**"Like it? I love it! It's beautiful, all of it. Thank you." **

**The Doctor kissed the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. **

**"No problem. Anything for you." **

***end of flashback***

Clara shook herself out of her thoughts and quickly undressed, stepping under the scalding hot water of the shower. She really had to stop zoning out like that. It was bad enough being physically ill without going insane from living in the past as well.

She applied shower gel to her skin and scrubbed furiously, removing at least three layers of skin and shampooed her hair repeatedly until it squeaked when she ran her fingers through it. She was determined to remove every last inch of the man's influence on her, right down to yesterday's make up which was currently draining down the plug hole. She rubbed at her face a bit with a flannel to speed along the process but otherwise let the water do most of the work, watching steam from the water condense on her mirror. The water pressure pounded at her sore muscles, undoing the knots that had returned after the Doctor had stopped massaging her last night. _Hmm. He was good at that_, mused Clara, remembering the way his hands had glided across her skin. _I'll have to get him to do that again sometime_.

She remained in the shower for half an hour longer until her skin pruned, unwilling to get out and face the cold light of day. She was scared that the Doctor would change his mind, now that he had had time to think things through, and he would just drop her off at a hospital and leave her there rather than wait for her to die. Because Clara knew that that was what was going to happen. There was no cure for what she had, and the drugs she was taking would only suppress it for so long. She would die, slowly, most probably painfully, and never tell the Doctor how she felt. How could she when she knew that, even he did love her, she would die and leave him alone, grieving for what could have been, what might have happened had she survived? It would kill him, she knew that much.

KnockKnockKnockKnockKnockKnock.

"Clara? Clara you in there?" The Doctor's voice, panicked and worried, drifted through the door. Clara turned off the shower and securely tucked the towel around her.

"Yeah!" Clara called back, unlocking the door. "Give me two-"

Before Clara could complete her sentence the Doctor barrelled in the unlocked door, sweeping her up into a hug that squished all the breath from her in one big whoosh.

"Good morning to you too." Gasped Clara as the Doctor spun them around, still hugging.

"Don't you ever do that to me again." The Doctor told her, burying his face in her wet hair.

"Do what?" Whispered Clara.

"Leave me like that. I thought that-that-Fenric had-" He held her even tighter.

"Wait," Clara wriggled out of his grasp and forced him to look at her. "Who's Fenric?"

The Doctor scowled. "Nobody that you need to worry about. I'll take care of him."

"Oh no you don't." Clara grabbed the Doctor by the arm and pushed him onto the bed. He tried to get up again but Clara shoved him back down. "You don't get to do this anymore."

"Do what?"

Clara crossed her arms, matching his scowl with one her own. "Keep things from me like this."

The Doctor rose from the bed, standing chest to chest with her. Or head to chest, if you're Clara.

"Some secrets," he said firmly, "have to stay that way."

Clara flung her hands into the air. "Why? Why can't you tell me? I have a right to know about Fenric, and why he did these things to me!"

"No. Not him you don't." He took her face in his hands. "Clara, there are things that I have seen, enemies that I have fought, people that I have been, that I never want you to have the burden of knowing about. Some things are best left unsaid." C

lara covered his hands with her own. "But what if I want that burden? What if I want to help you carry it?"

He shook his head sadly. "It would destroy you, in the end. Just like it has me."

"I could fix you."

"Oh, you could try. But you would fail."

"You don't know that."

The Doctor sighed, shoulders slumping. "I don't deserve you." he said quietly.

Clara let that one slide. "Whether or not you deserve me- and I think you do- I still need to know about Fenric. What if he takes me again? What will I do? I need to know what he is capable of."

The Doctor's features hardened and he dropped his hands from her face. "He will not get to you again. Not while I'm still breathing."

"But, Doctor-" Clara was losing this battle. Badly. There were holes everywhere, and her ship was going down. It was time to get a bucket and bail herself out.

"I. Do. Not. Care. I will not put your life in danger just because you have some wild idea in your primitive, insignificant human head that you can somehow fix a thousand years of broken hearts."

Ouch. That hurt. Clara looked at him in shock. Her Doctor would never say something like that, not if it would hurt her. But the angry, wounded man standing in front of her was not her Doctor.

"Okay then." She said, taking a few steps back from him, heart aching from his words and the distance between them. "Take me home."

"Take you where?"

"You heard me. Home. I. Want. To. Leave." Clara narrowed her eyes into slits.

The Doctor swallowed. She saw something flicker in his eyes- hurt? Love? Hatred?- but it soon passed.

"Okay." He nodded. "I'll take you tomorrow."

_Oh no, Chinboy. You're not getting off that easily._

He marched off to the door, Clara in tow. She grabbed him by the collar and tugged none too gently, causing him to fall backwards. She took advantage of this and planted herself in front of her door.

"Not tomorrow. Now. I want to leave now."

The Doctor towered above her, glowering at her. "You make me so angry." He growled.

Clara stood there, trying her best to look stern when really all she felt like doing was melting into a puddle of tears at his feet. She made him angry? What was that supposed to mean? Clara opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind but he waved her off before she even began.

"Fine, I'll take you." He rummaged in his pockets and slammed her medicine and another bottle of water on her dresser. "You'll need these. Next dose in half an hour." He said gruffly. "Now will you please move out of my way?"

Clara didn't hear him. He was actually going to do it. He was going to drop her off on Earth and forget about her, like he had done to so many others before. Hadn't their time together meant anything to him? The bedroom he built, swimming on the moon, chasing monsters across galaxies, the close friendship that Clara had thought that they shared... had it all been some game to him? She had sacrificed herself millions of times over for him, she was going to die, again, for him, and here he was dumping her on Earth.

So much for love.

Clara was so lost in thought that she didn't notice the Doctor picking her up and moving her away from the door, lingering a little too long when he set her down than strictly necessary. She didn't notice the tears silently rolling down his cheek, or the desolate look in his eye as he took one last glance at her on the floor. She felt broken, cold and alone, the one man that could fix her the person that had shattered her in the first place. The door slammed shut behind the Doctor. Clara stared at the wall as the time rotors started wheezing, taking her to the one place she dreaded to be the most.


	10. Chapter 10- Stupid In Love

The Doctor wearily trudged up the stairs up to the main console. The TARDIS hummed around him, the time rotors sliding smoothly up and down. He hadn't actually set course for Earth just yet; he was still hoping that Clara would come around to his way of thinking. He knew he had hurt her badly. The moment the words had come out of his mouth he had regretted them. The Doctor didn't want to push her away, far from it: he needed her in his life. That tiny, fiery, beautiful human girl had turned his world on its head the day she demanded to be rescued from the Asylum. The rest, as they say, was history.

As was their tattered friendship, the one relationship that the Doctor valued above all others.

The Doctor rested his elbows on the console and gazed at the TARDIS sadly. He would wait for her, he decided. Clara would come to the console room in her own time, and they would talk. He would explain it to her properly this time, everything, why he could never tell her about his past. Maybe if he was honest she might forgive him. But then again, she might not show up until the TARDIS landed and even then may not want to talk to him. If that happened the Doctor had no idea what to do. He couldn't force Clara to stay on board, but he could not, would not, risk her walking straight into one of Fenric's traps. If Clara returned to her apartment she would be exposed to Fenric, and the Doctor would rather face another planetfull of insane Daleks than the possibility of Clara being recaptured.

First minutes, then hours passed. The Doctor sat on the stairs watching the door closest to Clara's room, willing the brunette to show her face. Every second to him was agony. He came close to going after her multiple times, getting as far as the door before spinning on his heel and walking away. He wanted to go after her but had a feeling that she wouldn't want him there with her. As much as it killed him to he knew he had to give her time. Two more hours later, and the Doctor was getting seriously worried. It had been four hours, twenty minutes and fifteen seconds since he had last seen Clara. Now, the Doctor was new to the whole 'space' thing when it came to Clara but he was sure when somebody didn't show their face for four hours that something was wrong. He had tried simulating the TARDIS landing in an attempt to coax Clara out of her room to no avail. The Doctor had had enough. He was going after her.

* * *

><p>Clara flung clothes haphazardly into the suitcase, legs of jeans and arms of shirts and jumpers hanging over the edge. She didn't care how screwed up they got. To tell the truth, she didn't care about a lot anymore. She was leaving and that was that. The Doctor and all the trouble that he brought with him was not her problem anymore. She could go home to her friends and family and live out the time she had left with people that she loved. Not that she didn't love the Doctor, she had just realised that he would never love her back. She should have seen it coming, really. Lots of other women had travelled with the Doctor in the TARDIS and at least one of them must have made a move on him at some point. She couldn't have been the first, but she hoped, for his future companions' sake, that she was the last. Falling in love with a thousand year old alien was disastrous for everyone involved, and would only end in heartbreak and tears from both parties. Why, why, why had she let herself come to this? If she had stopped herself from loving him all of this could have easily been avoided. But she had had to ruin it all, hadn't she? Like she always did.<p>

Clara threw the last item of clothing into her case and slammed it shut, zipping it then securing it with a pad lock. The suitcase itself was very small; Clara never bothered to keep more than two or three sets of clothes in the TARDIS unless they were planning on a weekend visit to a particular planet. If she ever needed anything that she had forgotten to pack she used the TARDIS wardrobe. Luckily they hadn't been on a weekend away together for quite some time so the case was light and fairly easy to drag along behind her at speed, which was fortunate as she didn't really fancy asking the Doctor to pull it for her. She was on her way to becoming independent from him and in her eyes asking him to help would be a step backwards from her goal.

Clara put her hands on her hips and surveyed her handiwork, nodding once before extending the handle on her suitcase and making her way to the door. She was almost there when a frantic knocking sounded on the other side. Clara paused and closed her eyes, counting slowly to ten in the hope that the Doctor would get the message and leave. No such luck.

The Doctor rapped his knuckles urgently on the door again.

"Clara. I need to talk to you." His voice, low and regretfull, came muffled through the door. Clara laid her palm on the metal, secretly adoring the vibrations that rumbled through it before snatching her hand back, scolding herself for her moment of weakness.

"No." Clara whispered back. Then, more force fully, "No more talking."

"Clara, please, I'll do anything I swear. I don't want to say goodbye to you, not yet."

Tendrils of warmth spread through her, rooting in her heart before she could stop them. Was the Doctor pleading with her? Did he need her like she needed him? Clara shook her head. Of course he didn't. He never had and never will. She was replacable, just another girl in his endless line that the TARDIS used to torment her with. Once she was gone he would find another to toy with. If the rational part of her brain was in charge she would have left a long time ago. Unfortunately, her love-addled side had a tendency to completely take over in situations like these, especially when it concerned the Doctor. Clara forced herself to be strong and not fall into one of the Doctor's or, indeed, her own traps.

"Will you tell me about Fenric?"

"Clara..."

"Then I can't trust you. How can I when you hide so much from me? I want to travel with you, I want to help you, but I can't do that if you constantly shy away from me like this."

There was a long silence from the Doctor, so long that Clara was afraid that he had gone to drop her off. She rested her forehead against the cool metal of the door and slid her palms up, imagining that he was doing the same on the other side. Oddly it seemed to comfort her, thinking of him in the same position that she was, leaning on the door as if they could collapse straight through into each others arms.

"Yes." the Doctor answered after an unbearably long period of time had elapsed. Clara lifted her head from the door. "Yes, I'll tell you about Fenric. But on one condition."

"Which is...?"

"Don't push me like this about my past. I'll tell you in my own time, if I am to tell you."

Clara pursed her lips but nodded before realising that the Doctor couldn't see her and answering with a yes. Clara wasn't sure, but she swore she heard the Doctor breathe a sigh of relief.

"Meet me in the kitchen in ten. We have a lot to talk about, and I have a feeling we will need lots of tea."

"I'll be there." she promised him, dragging her suitcase over to her wardrobe and beginning to unpack. As she started to hang her clothes back up she felt a smile creep up her features. The problem was far from solved and hell they had a lot of problems to work through, a millennium of them in truth, but Clara couldn't help but feel that the Doctor's problems, now hers as well by choice, were well on their way to being solved.

**A/N Thank you to everybody who has reviewed, favourited and followed this story :) I can't work out how to reply on here yet, but I do read every comment and it really lifts my spirits to see so many people enjoying it :) I work mainly on Wattpad, but I am trying to divide my time more equally so I should find my way around this site soon (Fingers crossed). See Ya! **

**-Jazz**


	11. Chapter 11- The Story of Fenric

**A/N**

**Hello Ladies! (and men, if there are any reading this.)**

****This update is a nice large one for you all, as I haven't updated much recently :/ expect the next one on Wednesday, maybe Thursday, I'm not sure yet (it depends on how much coursework my teachers decide to dump on me). ****

**The history of Fenric, as in this chapter, is mainly based on the TV version of events. Some aspects, however, are purely fictional.**

**Love you guys,**

**-Jazz**

Clara teetered outside the kitchen door, teeth worrying her bottom lip as she debated whether to go in or not. On one hand, her and the Doctor were on the verge of making some real progress with their relationship; he was willing to open up to her and share some of the fears and worries that had been bottled up inside of him.

But, on the other hand, Clara had been hurt by the Doctor. He had looked into her eyes and said the words that had cut her heart so deep, fire burning in his normally calm features as he spat her flaws at her, told her that nothing she could do could help him. And to be honest after that experience she was a tiny bit scared to try.

_Just do it 're here now, you might as well just open the damn door and get on with it. Hear him out, and if you don't like what the has to say you can leave and never come back._

Clara edged the door open and slipped one hand around the side. She could hear humming and the faint hiss of food being fried. Curiosity overcoming caution she peeked her head through the gap between the door and the frame. What she saw made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. The Doctor was standing by the oven in Clara's red soufflé-stained apron, twirling a fish slice in his hand like a conductor's baton as he fried bacon. His face was wrinkled with concentration as he watched over the rashers, humming a tune that Clara vaguely recognised but couldn't quite place. As she watched he scooped up the bacon from the pan and slid it onto the slices of bread waiting on the other side, squirting a generous amount of tomato ketchup on top before deftly flipping the slices on top of each other and cutting it in half. Clara stayed frozen in the doorway as he started on another pan full of bacon, back turned towards her. She had expected the Doctor to be sitting at the table or pacing, not making them both bacon sandwiches. But since when had the Doctor done anything that she expected?

Clara moved one foot forward slightly to get a better look and cursed when a floor board under her gave off a loud creak. Typical.

The Doctor whipped around, tense, but relaxed when he saw that it was only Clara. "Hello." he said warmly, pointing to the second plate that he had just placed in Clara's usual spot at the table. "I made you a bacon sandwich. Lettuce, no ketchup." He made a face at her, waving his arms enthusiastically. "Bit rubbish without sauce if you ask me. Did you know, there's a planet devoted to making sandwiches. Arthur Dent, good friend of mine, used to live there and passed on his knowledge of sandwich making to the locals. Oh, Arthur. Brilliant man, if slightly confused and hermit-y. Mind you, none to popular with those Vogons though-"

Clara coughed, hiding her smile with one hand.

"What?"

She raised her eyebrows at him pointedly. "As much as I would love to hear about your friend, we do have...things...to talk about."

The Doctor's face fell and Clara almost felt bad about interrupting him.

No. I have to stop this , this feeling guilty whenever I do something that he doesn't like. I don't need him to be able to feel loved.

That's what she told herself anyway as she sat down at the table, pulling her sandwich over and taking a bite. The bacon was burnt, but Clara ate it. She was starving.

Across from her the Doctor picked at his own food avoiding eye contact. He wasn't hungry, his stomach churning with nerves. He was afraid that Clara wouldn't want to travel with him, not when he started telling her about all the events that he had lived through, the actions that he had been forced to do not out of love, or even hate, but because of the simple instinct to survive. People had been hurt, people he loved had died as a result of trusting him and Clara simply did not need to know the details. She was a kind, loving, compassionate person and would be horrified at the paths he had chosen, the enemies that he had made and the innocent people that he had killed, unwittingly or otherwise. He was certain that if he told her the full truth she would leave, despite her earlier assertions that she wanted to help him out. The Doctor could lie, but the idea of lying to Clara was almost as repulsive as the thought of never seeing her again. No, he would tell her about Fenric, but not the whole truth; just enough to satisfy her ever-present curiosity but no more. There were some things that Clara should not be burdened with, and that was one of them.

Clara finished her sandwich and looked over at the Doctor, who was glowering down at his own, untouched, lunch. He looked conflicted, brow furrowed, hands twisting in his lap, muttering abstractedly to himself. A tiny voice in her mind urged to comfort him but Clara suppressed it, mind and heart having a heated battle of wills before finally her head won and she stood up, picking up her own, empty plate then reaching out for the Doctor's, hand hovering uncertainly.

"Are you going to eat this?" She asked, voice softer than any silk. The Doctor looked up and waved a hand.

"Take it." He mumbled glancing up at her then shifting his gaze away to a spot on the ceiling which, apparently, was more favourable at the moment than she was. Clara humphed at him, stacked the plates, successfully fought the urge to give the Doctor's hand a reassuring squeeze and walked over to the sink, forcing herself to act like she would normally as she began to wash the plates and other utensils that the Doctor had used to make the sandwiches that oddly included a whisk and a sieve.

That man.

As she was washing up the Doctor fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. An awkward silence grew between them.

"So.." said Clara when the tension became too much to bear. "Are we going to talk about this or not?" She plunged her arm up to the elbow in bowl, searching for any cutlery that had escaped her attention earlier. She looked over her shoulder at the Doctor pointedly, raising an eyebrow. He jumped up from his chair.

"Yes. But not quite yet." He averted his eyes from her piercing gaze and grabbed a tea-towel from a drawer, flicking it in Clara's direction as he started to dry up.

Clara triumphantly unearthed a steak knife from the suddy bowl and waved it at him threateningly. "You'd better tell me soon, mister, otherwise I'll be out of here so fast I'll be a blur."

He chuckled. "Oh really? I'd like to see you try to get past me." He threw the tea-towel over his shoulder, freeing up both his hands so he could stack the plates back into the overhead cupboard safely. The last time he had had the wet towel in his hands as he was stacking resulted in smashed china on the floor and a very angry Clara. She had punched him so hard in the arm that a large purple bruise had swelled during the night, and it had hurt to move his arm for ages afterwards. Nope, it was best to be safe; Clara was already pretty ticked off with him and he had a feeling that breaking her plates was not going to help the situation.

"Oh, I would get past you easily. You run like a old woman." Clara teased, flicking the bubbles on her hand at him as she poured the excess water from the washing up bowl down the plughole. To her disgust a fork floated out, taunting her as the water drained around it.

The Doctor covered his hearts with his hands, adopting a mock-affronted expression. "I do not run like a old woman!" He wiped his hands on the teatowel, puffing out his chest proudly, "I, Miss Oswald, run like a _Time __Lord__._"

"Same difference." Clara snorted back, scrubbing viciously at the offending fork with her sponge.

The Doctor shot her a wounded look, and, when she ignored him, finished drying up, gently removing the fork from her grasp before she scrubbed it to pieces.

"Go and sit down, Clara. I'll make some tea." He pushed her towards the table gently. She frowned at him but did as he said, watching him carefully with her chin in one hand brain whirring away. The Doctor longed to ask her what she was thinking of but instead busied himself with the kettle, and five minutes later set two steaming hot mugs of tea down on the polished wooden surface of the table. They sipped silently, Clara blowing across the top of her mug to cool the scalding liquid. The Doctor traced the intricate whirls in the dark wood with his fingertips lightly and cleared his throat.

"Fenric..." He began, sitting back in his chair. "Fenric was one of the Great Old Ones. Myth says that he was born at the Dawn of Time, one of two forces- one good, one evil. Both forces were caught up in the Big Bang and the evil one survived. He went by many names- Hastur The Unspeakable, the Wolf, the Hunger, Aboo-Fenraen."

Clara giggled at the last one and sipped her tea thoughtfully. "So why is he called Fenric?"

The Doctor raised a finger. "I'll get to that in a minute." He tapped his fingers on the table to an irregular beat. "Fenric used to have a body of his own but, like many of the old ones, lost it and instead had to rely upon the bodies of others to give him physical form. He could possess more that one at a time, capable of controlling multiple hosts."

"Like an octopus' tentacles?"

"Yes, if you like. Apart from octopi can't possess people. Each tentacle had a person on the end of it, and they were Fenric's eyes and ears of the universe. Anyway, when he lost his original body Fenric was forced to embody one of his hosts, which by chance happened to be human. And so Fenric came to Earth. He landed in Constantinople, in the third cut a long story short, Fenric was terrorising the surrounding country side for years until the local royalty, Prince El-Amjad- lovely fella- confronted him and told him to leave. To everybody's surprise Fenric agreed as long as he could have the first thing the Prince named when he returned to his castle."

"Why would anybody agree to that? Fenric could have named anything." Clara said, brow furrowed.

"The Prince wanted a peaceful life, and besides he knew that if Fenric chose to fight him he would lose. El-Amjad had a family he needed to protect, and that was the best way to do it." The Doctor drunk some tea to refresh his voice. "Due to Fenric's meddling, the first thing the Prince named was his youngest daughter."

Clara gasped. "What? Doctor! Please tell me he didn't..."

He shook his head urgently but didn't look at her as he said, "No, he didn't. He sent him her weight in gold instead, thankfully. Unfortunately, Fenric had developed quite a liking for the girl and went back to ravaging the locals until, of course, I turned up." He twiddled his bow tie. Clara didn't even bother to roll her eyes.

"So this princess...did Fenric love her?" She asked, genuinely curious. The cold hearted, insane man that had kidnapped her hadn't come across as someone capable of love. The Doctor shifted in his seat, staring down into the depths of his mug.

"Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. Nobody really knows but him." He smiled sadly at the dregs of his tea. "She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman."

Clara felt a surge of jealousy toward the unnamed woman. She swallowed it down, forcing herself to smile despite the twinges of sadness resonating in her chest.

_See, Clara? _Her subconscious mocked her. _The Doctor falls in love with sophisticated, beautiful women not short bossy ones. _

She told her to shut up and zoned back in to the Doctor's voice, who seemed oblivious to the direction her thoughts had been going in.

"-one of my friends, Zeleekha, was imprisoned as a slave by mistake in the castle and ,in return for her release, I agreed to deal with Fenric."

"How did you do it?" Clara leaned forward. This was it. This was surely the weakness she could exploit; the chinks in Fenric's impenetrable armour.

"We played chess."

"Chess?" Clara was taken back and a bit disappointed. She had half expected there to be some massive stand-off: not a fight exactly, but an impressive display of alien-ness, much like when they went to Akhaten and he faced off against the Old God. Plus, Clara had no idea how to play so the knowledge would be pretty much useless on her own against Fenric.

"If there's one thing Fenric loves, it's chess. We played chess in the desert for eighty days, if you believe the legends."

"Did you?"

The Doctor tapped the side of his nose knowingly. "Spoilers, Oswald."

"I bet you didn't and it's all an impressive lie that everyone believed. Did you get in the TARDIS afterwards and skip forwards eighty days?" She laughed at his disgruntled expression. "You did, didn't you?"

He crossed his arms. "Shut up."

Clara smirked at him, mimicking his movements. The Doctor sniffed.

"After forty days of stalemate-" Clara snorted, earning her a disapproving glare from the Doctor, "I managed to trick Fenric into believing that I could win the match in one move. He then spent another forty trying to solve the problem and became so weak that his body expired. I was then able to capture his essence into a flask, and banish him to the Shadow Dimensions."

"What's that?"

"A universe that exists outside of our own, but is only accessible to the Great Old Ones and their elders."

Clara nodded slowly, twisting her now empty mug in her hands. "So that was it then? Fenric banished, princess saved, a civilisation of grateful people in your debt?"

"Not quite. He managed to possess unwitting humans even from the Shadow Dimensions. They became his Wolves- hence the name Fenric, it was derived from the Norse wolf god Fenrir- and over a period of time they freed him. He can manipulate timelines, you see, and he did with mine."

"How?"

"He made one of my companions, Ace, his Wolf. Twisted our timelines so we were inextricably linked together then used her as an indirect instrument to kill he did to her... I defeated him, but barely, and almost at the cost of a friend."

Clara winced. The Doctor was frowning, lines of anger written all over his face. He banged a clenched fist on the table and Clara jumped.

"I thought he was dead! I had killed him, properly, fully, there was nothing left of him I made sure of that but...but...aargh!"

Clara had never seen the Doctor so worked up. She reached for his hand, ignoring the voice in her head urging her not to, and squeezed it in what she hoped was a reassuring way.

"We can do it again, Doctor. You've done it twice already; you can do it again."

"That's exactly the problem! I've done it twice but he just keeps on coming back! Fenric is so powerful that even his own kind live in constant fear of him. You've seen what he can do Clara; he took you from the TARDIS right under my nose. Nobody can stop him. Nobody. There's nothing I can do." The words left a sour taste in the Doctor's mouth. He was powerless, he had known it from the start but admitting it to Clara brought home the brutal reality that they were living. Fenric had won, and the battle had barely begun.

"Fenric can manipulate timelines, so in theory he can see them as well, yes? Like what's going to happen in a person's life, he can predict."

The Doctor nodded. "Go on."

"He can see yours, then."

The Doctor sat up in his chair a little straighter, listening intently. "In theory, yes, I suppose. It'd be difficult- you saw for yourself how jumbled my timestream was, all those lives- but yes."

"There must be so many moments in your life that Fenric could just, you know, swoop in and finish you off at your weakest. So why here? Why now, not when you're at the most vulnerable? Why me, not you?" Clara's forehead screwed up in concentration. It just didn't make sense. If Fenric had wanted the Doctor dead, he could have done it centuries ago.

The Doctor watched the cogs whirring away in her brain as she tried to figure it out. He knew why Fenric had chosen this particular incarnation of him, and Clara, to make his move. It was because he had never had a weakness quite like _her _before. The Doctor was a unkillable as Fenric was, and they both knew it. They both also knew that the only way to get to him was to target someone he loved- Clara. He loved Clara like no-one else, and it must have been plain to see from his timeline how strong his feelings were for her.

_See Doctor, this is why you do not fall in love. This is why you have friendships, not romantic relationships with your companions._

_I am so stupid._

Of course, the Doctor couldn't tell Clara the nature of his feelings for her. How could he, when just _wanting _more with her had landed her in so much trouble? So he hid his warring emotions behind a mask of self control then said with a shrug, "Beats me. My best guess is because I'm old, and am prone to mistakes that I wouldn't have made when I was younger."

One look at Clara sceptical stare told him that she hadn't bought it. "You know why. I know you do. Are you hiding things from me again?" She said accusingly.

"No." He replied firmly. "I am not."

"Doctor..." She said pleadingly.

"Clara..." He echoed in the same tone of voice.

She got up from her chair, kicking it backwards and slamming her mug down on a kitchen counter. "Alright. I guess I'll just have to go home then."

"No!" The Doctor jumped up and ran to her, pressing his hand on her chest to keep her in place against the worktop. "Please."

She sighed. The Doctor could feel her heartbeat thumping to a slightly erratic rhythm on his palm. He briefly wondered if her condition had reached her vitals but pushed the thought aside quickly. It was too early a stage for the sickness to have reached her heart.

"I need to go home, Doctor. Explain to my Dad and my friends whats happening. I won't tell them that its alien," she added, noticing his nervousness, "but they need to know what's going on."

The Doctor peered into her eyes, noting how scared the notion made her. "I could come with you," he offered quietly. She blinked, surprised by the proporsition.

"I have nowhere for you to stay." Was all she could think to say.

"I can bring the TARDIS!" He waved a hand behind him. "She won't mind camping on your lawn, will you Sexy?"

The TARDIS groaned, a sound that clearly said to Clara, _Yes, I do mind actually_, but the Doctor interpreted as a no.

"See?" He said brightly, grinning eagerly. "Half the time you won't know that we're there. Quiet as a mouse, that's me."

Clara sighed again. She couldn't bear to disappoint him, not when he was so excited at the prospect of living with her for a while.

"Alright, you can stay." She said. "But, we'll have to lay down some house rules."

The Doctor pouted. "Claaraaa."

She crossed her arms and stared him down. He removed his hand from her chest and copied her, adopting a serious face that lasted all of three seconds until he caved in.

"Fine."

He grabbed her by the hand and ran out of the room, Clara stumbling in her heels as she tried to keep up.

"Oi! Slow down! What's the hurry?" Clara panted, tugging on his hands to slow them to a jog. The Doctor grinned at her lopsidedly, hair falling into his face.

"I'm living with the most important human in the history of the Universe for a week. Of course I'm in a hurry."

Clara blushed, but didn't miss a beat of their pace. "Well then, Doctor. We best get started as soon as possible."

"I couldn't agree more."


	12. Chapter 12- Home

Dark grey clouds, almost black, hung in the sky, sunlight filtering feebly through the cracks to paint the pavements a weak, sickly yellow. It was early autumn and the season was already in full swing; the trees decked out in gold and crimson and deep puddles littering the ground. Children played in the street gleefully, jumping in the puddles wearing brightly coloured wellies and running joyfully through the small piles of fallen leaves that had just begun to fall. The holiday season had ended and parents now deemed the neighbourhood safe enough to play in, as long as they played close to the houses so the adults could watch, of course. The attention was usually unneeded but it never harmed to be safe.

Clara watched the children play with a half smile on her face, arms crossed, leaning back on the familiar wood of the blue box parked behind her. It had been a long time since she had last visited her home town; even longer since she herself had played in this streets, just like those children were now. For a moment she closed her eyes and rested her head back, remembering how it had felt, racing with her friends the wind lifting her hair , playing hide-and-seek, not a care in the world apart from perhaps when dinner was or what curfew was set by their parents. She remembered the Pleasure Beach, eating sticks of rock, gaping at the rides that she wasn't yet big enough to ride on, hanging on tightly to her Mother's hand with eyes as round as saucers.

Blackpool. _Home. _

A couple of the children recognised Clara and pointed at her excitedly. One, perhaps recalling her from the days she used to babysit to earn some extra money for schoolbooks, waved frantically, rocking back and forth in his too- large wellies. She waved back and crouched down as he ran up to her.

"Hello." The little boy said shyly.

" 'ello Harry," replied Clara, slipping back into her full accent and mussing up the boy's hair. He grinned gappily and flung his arms around her, engulfing her in a hug so forceful she would have lost her balance if the TARDIS had not been directly behind her. Clara laughed and Harry giggled as she picked him up and swung him around a bit. By then a whole crowd of children had grown around her and Clara was being hugged from all angles from children that she had looked after and others that had heard about her from their friends. In the midst of all the introductions and storytelling- Harry had lost ten teeth in the last year and was telling her about the time he swallowed one in a choc-ice while Harriet, a seven year old girl with curly brown hair, was updating her on her new doll, Suzie, that the kitten liked to play with- the Doctor strode out of the TARDIS nervously twiddling his bow tie.

"Clara?"

All the childrens' heads snapped around at the new arrival and the chatter stopped; the horde of chattering kids closing ranks around their one-time nanny. The Doctor froze, hands stilling at his bow tie as he took in the situation.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, concerned by some of the none-too-friendly looks some of the older ones were throwing his direction. Instead of answering the Doctor directly Clara looked to the children, some of which were almost as tall as her, and touched her hands lightly to their heads.

"Id's alright," she soothed, "he's a friend of mine."

Harry shifted his feet and squinted up at the Doctor suspiciously. "Are jow sure? He looks ole funny."

The Doctor glanced at her, bewildered. Clara laughed, realising that the Doctor didn't understand them when they were speaking the local dialect. She must have gone back into her accent without her noticing. "He dus, doesn't he. He's alright though, rayley."

"Rayley?"

"Rayley." She kissed Harry on the forehead, making him squirm, then directed him to where the others had moved away to play 'It' in somebody's front garden. "Goo An laik Wi' the others for a bit. I'll see jow after I visit meh Dad."

Harry grumbled but, after giving Clara yet another hug and the Doctor a suspicious glare, left her to join his friends.

"I hope your Dad doesn't talk like that. I need a dictionary whenever you decide to go all Lancashire on me." The Doctor took her hand, ignoring the jealous looks being shot his way by several of Clara's former charges.

"Sorry. I usually oss not to sooa they larn proper English bud...they understand me bett-hur an I use the dialect." Clara replied, then realised what she had said or, rather, _how_ she had said it. "Sorry." she apologised, covering her mouth with one hand. "I'll have to teach you one day," she added, "If you're going to meet my friends. They're even worse than I am."

The Doctor chuckled. "Of course they are."

Clara rolled her eyes as she steered him toward her Father's house and her childhood home. With every step she could feel the tension in her stomach coiling tighter, and the Doctor stopped walking and pulled her back to him so he could plant a quick kiss on her forehead.

"You'll be fine. We can do this," he reassured her, briefly hugging her, "Together."

Clara took a deep shakey breath. "Together." She agreed, mounting the moss covered steps to the front door and gently tapping the bronze knocker to a rhythm that her Father would instantly recognise as hers. After a few minutes a shape appeared in the patterned glass window and the door swung open slowly.

"Clara? Is that you?" Clara's Dad stepped out of the shadows, revealing a balding man in his early fifties of medium height, broad, a neatly trimmed beard covering most of the lower half of his round face. At first glance Dave Oswald was intimidating; but at second the twinkling brown eyes and laughter wrinkles showed him to be a much kinder man.

"Hey, Dad." Clara smiled weakly at her Dad as he spotted the Doctor and looked him up and down. The Doctor straightened under his gaze, determined to live up to her Father's high standards, feeling strangely vulnerable under Mr Oswald's scrutiny.

"And who is this?" Dave demanded, eyes narrowed at the strange man that had turned up on his doorstep with his daughter.

"This is the Doctor." Said Clara. The Doctor waved at Dave then clasped his hands behind his back, unsure whether he was allowed to touch Clara or not. "He's a friend from work. Offered to give me lift to see you and I thought it would be rude to leave him outside, sooo..." She trailed off, giving her Dad a hopeful, half fearfull look. Dave frowned at the Doctor then looked down at Clara, melting at the lost puppy expression she was giving him.

"Fine, he can come in." Dave grumbled, pulling the door open. Clara grinned and bounced in, hugging her Dad before beckoning the Doctor in with one finger. He gingerley stepped over the threshold, hands still linked behind his back. He thrust one out and shook Dave's hand eagerly, keen to show that he was no threat to his daughter.

"Hello! I'm the Doctor, you must be Dave, I mean of course you are, you're her Father, How could you not be you even _smell _alike-" he punctuated this with a loud sniff, tongue tasting the air all the while still shaking Dave's hand "Good smell, that. It really reminds me of- I'm rambling. aren't I?" He said despairingly to Clara. She nodded silently, watching her Father's bemused face carefully.

"Oh, Daleks. I told myself not to ramble. I _distinctly _remember telling myself not to ramble. I looked me in the eyes and said 'Doctor. Do. Not. Ramble.' But here I am, rambling again. Rambling about rambling. Rambling about rambling about rambling. How Clara puts up with it is beyond me. She has a heart of gold, your daughter." The Doctor paused for breath and Clara took that opportunity to stop the conversation before it got any worse.

"So," she said brightly, nudging the Doctor to let go of her Father's hand. "Let's go into the living room shall we?"

Dave looked down at her and blinked, lowering his arm from where the Doctor had left it mid-air. He collect himself enough to say, "Sounds great honey. I'll go put the kettle on.", then made what looked suspiciously like a quick exit into the kitchen.

"Come on you," said Clara, sighing at the Doctor. "This way."

Clara guided him down the hallway and through a door on the left-hand side, entering a small but cosy living room. The Doctor flopped down onto the cushion strewn sofa the moment Clara let go of his wrist, spreading out his arms and legs.

"Nice place," he commented to Clara as she sat in the armchair opposite. "Cosy."

She looked over from where she was sitting and said somewhat defensively, "My Mum helped decorate it. It's my home."

"It's beautiful." The Doctor replied, picking up a photo of a younger Clara at ten years of age, laughing and hugging her Mum and Dad on what looked like a family holiday. His gaze flicked up from the frame to Clara's doubtful face.

"Honestly, it is. Your Mum had good taste."

Ellie Oswald had decorated the living room so it had a homely feel; comfy chairs and pouffes were dotted around the room, all circling a central oak coffee table stained from the countless mugs of tea that had been placed on them. A massive bookcase dominated one wall, full to bursting with books. At some point they had run out of room for the countless novels Ellie- and, presumably, Clara- had gathered over the years and stacks of them were piled neatly at the bottom of the bookcases. Next to the case, on the right hand side wall, was a small desk well stocked with pens and pads of paper. The room was like Aladdin's Cave- wherever you looked something new caught your eye, demanding your attention.

The Doctor leaned back slightly, making himself at home with all the cushions on his part of the sofa, and let his eyes wander. Everything in the room was interesting; every piece had been chosen with care and had a story behind it. But what caught the Doctor the most were the pictures that coated the walls. Almost all of them were from before Ellie died, the only exceptions being Clara's graduation and Dave's fiftieth birthday party. In both pictures the two were surrounded by close friends and family. The Doctor knew that there were more post two thousand and five pictures in existence- Clara had shown him albums and albums full of them- so why weren't they up on the walls with the rest of them? There was a massive gap above the TV with hooks nailed in the wall already, awaiting pictures that were never hung. The Doctor looked to Clara, a question forming on his lips, but Dave walked in with the tea, cutting him short.

"Right then," Dave started, setting the tray on the coffee table between them and pulling up another armchair. He sat down, pouring out the tea and handing one mug to Clara, then another to the Doctor. He balanced his own mug on his knee with one hand and gestured to Clara. "To what do I owe this visit? It's not like you to come all the way up North without phoning ahead, Clara, lift or not."

Clara threw the Doctor an apprehensive look, sipping her tea, stalling for time. Her hands were shaking so much that she almost spilt her drink down her dress. Clara smoothed out her dress, composing herself, then began. Her voice remained steady throughout most of it, cracking once or twice when she saw her Father's face go from friendly ease, to concern, then finally shock. Once she had finished Clara sat there, tea abandoned on the coffee table. The Doctor took it upon himself to say what Clara seemed uncapable of putting into words. He had remained silent for most of the conversation, sensing that Clara had needed to tell her Dad herself, but he knew that she needed him now to put into words that she could not.

"Dave," he said gently. The man lifted his face from his hands slowly, and looked at the Doctor as if only just realising that he was there. There were tear streaks down Dave's face and his eyes were a burning red, but when he saw the Doctor his expression quickly turned from one of despair to that of anger.

"How _dare _you! How dare you treat my girl like this! She was under your protection and look what happened to her!" Dave rose from his seat and stabbed a finger in the Doctor's direction even as the Time Lord began to back away, hands raised placatingly at Dave.

"Sir, I really don't think-"

"You really don't think what, eh? That it's your fault that my daughter is well on her way to an early grave? This is exactly your fault, young man, all of it!" Dave was shouting now, advancing a step with every word, forcing the Doctor to back into a corner.

"Dave, please, listen to me." The Doctor tried but Clara's Father ignored him, his grief leaving him in a torrent of anger.

"I promised her Mother that I would take care of her. I looked into her eyes as she died and I promised is the only person left that I give a damn about and now, and now..."

The Doctor's back hit the wall with a loud thump. He looked appealingly over at Clara, who seemed to be frozen in her seat. She seemed transfixed.

"I would do anything for Clara. _Anything. _You have no idea. No _idea._" Dave had finally caught up with the Doctor and stood there, watching him, coming to a decision.

"Get out." Dave spat.

"Dad!" Clara cried, tugging on her Father's arm. "You can't do this!"

Dave shook her arm off him gently. "Yes I can. _He _ has brought nothing but trouble to this family. Go and sit down." He instructed her firmly. "And you," he pointed at the Doctor, "stay away from my daughter."

The Doctor drew himself up to his full, and impressive, height, preparing for either an argument or a dignified exit. If he could have diffused the situation he would have, but, for Clara's sake, the best course of action right now would be for him to leave before her Father lost it completely. However Clara seemed to have other ideas. She wriggled past her Father and stood her ground in front of him, shielding the Doctor behind her.

"No." Clara half pleaded, half shouted. "The Doctor's not leaving!"

"Clara. Let me leave." The Doctor said softly in her ear.

"Don't you dare." She hissed back, reaching her hands behind her to where she could clutch his jacket and hold him there.

"Honey, let him go." Dave urged.

"It's for the best," the Doctor added, disengaging her fists from his coat.

Clara whipped around and grabbed a fistfull of the Doctor's waistcoat, pinning him to the wall. "Don't. Move." She growled.

"Okay." The Doctor said, too surprised to think of anything else to say.

"Okay. Right then." She turned back to her Father, one hand keeping the Doctor firmly lodged against the wall, " Dad, I know you're worried, but I can take care of myself-"

Dave snorted, arms crossed. Fury was still plain to see in his normally docile features, but there was a glint of amusement in his eye as he watched his daughter keep a stuggling Doctor trapped behind her.

Clara's eyes narrowed at Dave and they flashed dangerously. "I chose to travel with the Doctor. That is my choice. Not yours, and nothing you can say or do can change that."

He studied her for a few moments. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"I'm sure." she answered, the Doctor flailing around behind her like a fish out of water.

Dave sighed heavily. "I can't tell you who you can or can't be friends with, Clara. But I can tell you this. If that man steps into this house again, or if I hear that he has done something else to you, I will not be held responsible for my actions." He pointed his finger inbetween the two. "Am I clear?"

"Crystal." Clara returned curtly. "Come on Doctor, we're leaving." She let go of his waist coat only to grab him again by the lapel, almost dragging him behind her as she marched out of the living room and down the hall. The Doctor struggled to keep up with her, bent double from the angle that Clara had grasped him by the lapel. Nevertheless he managed to wave to a stony-faced Dave on the way out which earned him a scowl from Clara.

Once they had left the house, Dave slamming the door behind them, Clara finally let go of the Doctor and sagged against him. He straightened up, spine cracking, rubbing his back ruefully.

"Was that _really_ necessary?" He complained. When she didn't answer the Doctor touched her shoulders lightly to get her attention, only to notice that they were shaking. "Clara?"

Without warning the young woman collapsed into him, sobbing, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his broad shoulder. The Doctor rubbed her back soothingly and wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her back toward the reassuring silhouette of the TARDIS.

"Ssh. You'll be alright." He said into her hair. She cried harder, and the Doctor gently placed a kiss in her hair. "Let's get you back to the TARDIS, hmm?"


	13. Chapter 13-Weapon Of Mass Distraction

The moment the TARDIS doors shut Clara pulled away from the Doctor, distancing herself from him tears fell thick and fast from her eyes and she wiped them away angrily with her hands, hating herself for showing weakness in front of him. She would not lose control. If there was one thing on her life that Clara needed, it was control, and she clung on to it by her fingertips, loathe to let it go.

The Doctor rounded the console cautiously, wringing his hands. "Clara?" he questioned softly.

She didn't answer, turning her back to him and stalking off to her room. The Doctor huffed in frustration and followed, keeping ten steps behind her at all times as she walked down the console room steps and into the maze-like corridors of the TARDIS interior.

"Will you leave me alone?" Clara snapped at him, increasing her pace. It was impossible to lose the Doctor in the TARDIS; he knew every knook and cranny of the infinite spaceship like the back of his hand. A trait that, on any other day, would have Clara impressed but right now she needed some space from the well-meaning Time Lord so she could figure out what to do next.

"Well, actually, no. You need to calm down." The Doctor said beseechingly behind her, long legs easily adapting to keep up with her shorter ones' new pace. He didn't understand. One minute Clara had been fierceley defending him from her Father, and the next she was rejecting him.

"_I _need to calm down? _I need to calm down?_" Clara returned shrilly.

"Um, yes?" He said it like a question, afraid what her answer would be. Clara snorted and sped up again, legs working so fast they seemed a blur. Seeing no other option the Doctor lengthened his stride, overtaking her and clamping his hands down on her shoulders, halting her headlong rush and holding her in place. Clara stared down at the floor, body ram rod straight, cheeks glistening with tears.

"Doctor, let me go." She whispered, so quietly that a normal human could have mistaken it as a breath of wind.

"No, Clara, look at me." He removed a hand hesitantly from her shoulder, and, when she made no move to escape, rested it under her chin instead. He wasn't forcing her to look up- just giving her encouragement to. And, sure enough, Clara did, lifting her head just enough to peep at him through the curtain of hair that had fallen across her face. The Doctor brushed it aside, tucking the various strands behind her ears. He studied her folorn expression like a scientist until he came up with his theory, hoping that he had found the crux of the issue.

"You have to talk to your Dad."

She ducked around him and resumed her march through the TARDIS. "No. Not yet."

This time the Doctor walked alongside her, noting how resolute the set of her shoulders were and the cold mask on her face. The tears were erased, the only hint of their previous existence faint tracks down her cheeks. He could see at first glance that pushing her into it was not going to help at all so instead he filed the topic away in a corner of his brain, marking it for later. Neither of them were in the right mood to tackle what had just occured, at least not in a civil way, so the Doctor went back to what he did best.

Distract her.

The Doctor tentatively reached down between them and brushed Clara's hand. Her fingers twitched against his slightly and in response he threaded his fingers through hers, savouring the sensation of their palms touching, her pulse beating steadily where their fingers met. The Doctor swung their hands fractionally as they walked, the action making Clara smile despite her face being turned away.

"I know what you need," the Doctor announced, suddenly stopping in the middle of the hallway. He tugged on her hand and she twirled towards him, keeping their hands linked. "Adventure."

Despite her dark mood Clara lips quirked up into a smile. "Oh, really?" She teased. "Or is this just you getting restless?"

"Oh no." He waved at himself with his free hand. "This is all you."

Clara raised a curved eyebrow. The Doctor stared at her, confused.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Oh, nevermind." Clara resumed walking, this time back to the console room. "So where, or should I say _when, _do you have in mind?"

The Doctor laughed, the sound echoing and bouncing off the walls. "Brilliant. I was thinking, maybe, Revolutionary France, before all the beheadings. The personalities, the food..." he trailed off, chin tilted upwards, lost in recollection.

"...the dresses, the _hair_," mused Clara, finishing his sentence for him. The Doctor beamed at her at her and Clara's knees felt wobbly.

"Pre-revolutionary France it is then. The TARDIS wardrobe has a whole host of dresses for you. You'll love them. Did you know..."

Clara gazed up at the Doctor as they wandered leisurely. She was so engrossed by his words that she didn't notice that they were heading for the Med-Bay until the Doctor halted outside the door to push the button. Her feet froze in place and her heartbeat rocketed, skin quickly becoming clammy. Such was her distress that the Doctor stopped mid-sentence and looked down at her, concerned. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, body shaking.

"Clara, are you alright?" He inquired, a frown gracing his boyish features.

Clara gripped on to him, terrified, and whispered "Please don't make me go back in there. Please. I don't...I can't..."

The Doctor pulled her into his arms immediately and hugged her tightly, rubbing his large hands up and down her back. "Stay out here, okay? I'll keep the door open. Stay where I can see you."

Clara nodded into his shoulder and gave him one last squeeze before reluctantly letting him go.

"Don't be too long."

"I won't"

The Doctor left Clara standing in the hall and entered the Bay, leaving the door open so she could see him. To be honest he wasn't that keen on the place either but he had to go in there to gather emergency supplies just in case the sickness decided to pop its ugly head up during a visit- something that the Doctor did not want to have to face without the proper equipment. In the past he had joked that he wasn't a qualified doctor. Now was not the time to find out how qualified he really was.

Working as fast as he could he rummaged through the cupboards, taking anything that may help her, and packing it away into a drawstring washbag. As an added precaution the Doctor filled a tank with oxygen and attached Clara's oxygen mask to it, placing the tank, mask, and bag into the inner pocket of his tweed jacket. As big as his pockets were it took a bit of manuevering to fit all three items in- sadly, the barbie doll had to go to make room- and as soon as he was done he exited the room as fast as he could, whacking the button repeatedly outside to make the door slide shut faster. He breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed and went to Clara immediately, wrapping an arm around her waist, guiding her to the main console room. As they went the Doctor babbled on about Paris and the monarchy until the shaking stopped and a smile creeped across her features.

"Are you ready?" He grinned at her, skidding around the console as he worked the controls, feeling pleased with himself for cheering Clara up. The young woman ran after him, hands gliding along the edge of the surfaces, the grated floor shuddering under the combined weight of both their feet.

"Do you really have to ask?" She called back. She had changed into a traditional Parisian-style dress, the skirts billowing about her as she came to stop next to the Doctor. For a moment he allowed himself a moment to appreciate just how breathtakingly _beautiful _she was, with her hair piled neatly on top of her head, make-up applied with an expert hand, dress complimenting her in all the right places, eyes vibrant and alive. He took her hand and kissed it, her eyebrows shooting up at the unexpected action.

"Why Doctor, you're quite the gentlemen, aren't you?"

"I aim to please, especially in such esteemed company, my lady."

Clara giggled and shoved him in the shoulder. "Push the button, peasant."

"I think you'll find that I'm a Lord."

"Peasant, more like. You certainly look like one."

The Doctor looked down at his usual suit and glared at her. "What's wrong with this?"

" should dress up too, it's not fair." Clara pouted.

"Have you seen what french men used to wear? I'll be fine like this, thank you."

"Suit yourself, _peasant. _Now push the button; your Lady commands you."

The Doctor bowed. "As you wish."

He pushed the button and pulled a lever. The TARDIS jolted into flight, floor shaking and rumbling. Clara was thrown into the Doctor and he caught her, the two roaring with laughter as they clung on to a railing. In due course the flight ended and the Doctor pulled Clara to her feet. He offered her his arm and she took it, questioning him as they neared the TARDIS doors.

"So," she began, tucking a lock of hair that had come loose back up into her elaborate hair do, "when are we?"

"May the sixth, seventeen-seventy. Otherwise known as-" twirling, he reached for the doors behind his back, facing Clara so he could watch her expression, "- Marie Antionette's wedding ball."

He flung open the doors, watching Clara eagerly as she took in the sight behind the doors. Watching her initial reaction to a new world- or a new time, as indeed this was- was something that the Doctor would never tire of seeing, no matter how many times he saw it. This one he watched with particular care- one of Clara's favourite periods of history was revolutionary France, and he just knew that she was going to love it.

Clara's eyes went wide with wonder at the beautiful ballroom in front of her- that is, until she saw what was in there with them. Or, more specifically, _who._


	14. Chapter 14- The Ball Part One

__The tiniest of glimpses.

That was all Clara caught of Fenric before he was gone, cloak snapping in his wake. He looked different; hair long and brown, dressed in the typical period style of the century that they were in, but she knew it was him. She couldn't explain it. She just _knew. _Like a primal instinct ingrained into her very DNA- Fenric was in a different body, but it just _felt_ like him. Almost like a subtle pressure on her temple telling her, screaming at her, it's him, he's back, run you stupid woman. Clara looked sideways at the Doctor who had stuck his head out of the TARDIS doors worriedly, searching for what had agitated her. Clara placed a hand on his arm. Only then did she realise that she was shaking like a leaf, teeth chattering, hyperventilating, body reacting to Fenric's presence even as her mind stayed calm.

Strange.

At the touch of her hand at his arm the Doctor looked down at her, worry creasing his smooth features.

"What is it? What's wrong?" He asked. One hand lifted to cup her cheek and Clara leaned into it. For a moment she considered lying to him and pushed the thought aside quickly. She had told the Doctor not to lie to her; it would be hypocritical not to abide by the same rule.

"Fenric." She whispered to him, watching apprehensively as his features hardened.

"Are you sure?" he demanded. His fingers of the hand on her cheek curled into her hair even as the other one slid up to claim the other side. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes. I mean, it was him, but it wasn't at the same time. Different face, same man. I could feel it. Doctor, how? How could I know that?" She questioned, voice raising several octaves towards the end.

The Doctor didn't reply; he was fiddling with some kind of hand-held scanner, alternately hitting it or pressing an ear to it in an attempt to gain a reading. The TARDIS doors were wide open and Clara was amazed that nobody had wandered over to see what the commotion was. She supposed that they were too engrossed in the new Queen to care, but some of the guards nearest to them were shifting agitatedly and one looked like he was about to make a move.

Clara placed a hand on his arm, still trembling but somewhat more calm, and repeated, "Doctor, he's gone. Fenric's gone."

The Doctor hit the device in his hand one last time, shaking it, but when there was no change in pitch of the buzzing he slumped against the doorway of the TARDIS, sonicing the device and tucking it back into his long jacket.

"No, he's not. Not yet." He ran a hand through his quiff, making it stick out in odd directions. "He was sending us a message." _I am here. I can find you. You cannot escape me._The Doctor began to pace. "And you." He turned swiftly on the spot, pointing at her roughly. "A message about you."

Clara stuck her hands on her hips. "What about me?"

Gears whirred in the Doctor's brain. What would Fenric want him to know about her? Something...Something to do with...Something about...

Oh. _Oh._

"Clara, roll up your left sleeve."

She looked at him quizzically but obeyed, tucking and re-tucking the silky fabric up her arm to just above her elbow. She held it out to him. The Doctor grimly cupped her elbow with one hand and twisted it so she could see what was on the inside.

"Oh my..." Clara's eyes tattoo on her arm was glowing a gleaming gold, the Gallifreyan runes standing out against the paleness of her skin.

"Doctor what's wrong with me?" Clara demanded, panicked. He shook his head and let her sleeve fall back into place. There was a dull golden glow illuminating the fabric where the tattoo was. _The mark of his Wolves. _

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong with you, I promise." The Doctor lied. "A side effect from Fenric's proximity to you. Nothing to worry about."

Clara took a step closer to him, then another. She jabbed a finger in his chest menacingly. "You better not be lying to me," she warned. He stepped backwards, shaking his head lightly, and pulling what he hoped was a convincingly happy expression.

"I'm not." He lied again, pain stabbing him in the chest with every syllable. Lying to Clara bothered him, but if she knew that he knew then Fenric would know as well. He had to tread carefully.

"Hmmm." Said Clara, unconvinced, but the Doctor was saved from a confrontation with her- at least for now- by a gentle cough. The Doctor and Clara turned around at the same time to see a crowd of Lords and Ladies milling outside the TARDIS, talking to one another behind their hands. Without another word the Doctor offered Clara his arm and, when she somewhat grudgingly accepted, strode through the doors closing them with a _snap _of his fingers when they crossed the threshold. As they did a portly woman in her thirties stepped forward, stubby fingers coated in jeweled rings and wearing a lilac silk dress that brushed the floor.

"Good evening," she said graciously to Clara, ignoring the Doctor completely. " I am Lady Agathe. And who might you be?"

The Doctor spoke across Clara, disgusted that the woman had blanked him. "This is my Lady Clara, of Chiswick. I am-"

"How lovely to meet you, Lady Clara." The woman curtsied at Clara. Clara unwound her arm from the Doctor's and curtsied back, surprisingly well for a woman that had never attempted it before.

"Likewise." She replied, returning her arm to it's place on his. Agathe gestured at the Doctor.

"And who is this? Your manservant?" She scoffed, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the Doctor's clothes. Next to him, Clara sniggered.

"See?" she whispered. "You _are _a peasant."

The Doctor subtly digged her in the ribs as punishment, pulling the psychic paper from a well-concealed pocket and flashing it at the crowd. "Lord Doctor of TARDIS." he announced proudly. He could feel Clara's sides trembling with laughter beside him. "Lady Clara here is my wife."

Clara immediately stopped laughing and looked at him, gobsmacked, but quickly covered it up when the woman looked at her critically. "He's English," she offered by way of explanation, "different fashions."

That earned her another poke from the Doctor, who was thoroughly enjoying her reaction to being his 'wife'. It wasn't very often that he managed to catch her off guard like that.

"My pardons." Apologised Agathe. "Follow me, if you will."

Clara clung on to the Doctor's arm even tighter as she led them to the throng of guests at the ball; some talking, some dancing, serving girls weaving their way around holding trays of food and drink aloft. When one sauntered past them the Doctor expertly snagged a couple of cups of wine, passing one to Clara who sniffed at it before taking a sip. It tasted of summer and grapes.

"Where are we going?" she muttered to him as Agathe pushed them forward through the throng of chattering people."

"To meet the new Dauphine, I expect." He muttered back. He tasted the wine, shuddered and poured the rest of his into Clara's half- full goblet. "I hate alcohol."

All of a sudden the throng of Lords and Ladies parted and the thrones came into view. They sat on a raised dais, presents piled around their feet. On one throne was the Dauphin Louis, a boy of fifteen, dressed in the traditional wedding finery. On the smaller throne next to him sat the new Dauphine Marie Antoinette, even younger than her royal husband at fourteen, one of her hands firmly grasped within his. Her angled face shone with happiness, blonde tresses the colour of honey tied up and tumbling down the neck of her dress. The Dauphin leaned over and whispered something shyly in her ear, waving the goblet in his left hand as he talked. Behind the thrones, two servants dressed in the livery of the Royal households stood with jugs of more wine.

Lady Agathe beckoned the Doctor and Clara forward and presented them to the newlyweds.

"Your Grace, Lord Doctor of TARDIS and Lady Clara of Chiswick." She announced.

The Doctor offered their congratulations and bowed, Clara curtsying alongside him. Marie smiled giddily at them but Louis frowned, rising from his throne and descending the dais steps.

"Have I seen you before, my good lord?" Louis peered at the Doctor was a hint of a moustache on his upper lip, an attempt to grow some hair to impress his new bride no doubt. The Doctor smiled at him easily.

"I think not, Your Grace." He replied. "But I know your Father well."

"You do?" He blinked. Behind them Marie was growing restless, shifting in her seat. The Doctor inclined his head.

"I do." He smiled up at Marie, who fluttered her eyelashes back. Clara ground her teeth together and tried not to look too hostile.

"Very well, my lord. I will speak with you later." The Dauphin turned his back to them, dismissing them, and climbed the steps back to his Dauphine. "Time for dancing, I think."

The band tuned up then played a slow waltz, as the partners coupled up and took to the floor. The Doctor whisked Clara into the middle of the ballroom, placing one hand on her waist and grasping her hand in his. She stumbled at first, tripping over her skirts, but soon settled into the rhythm of the dance.

"So, wife," he began, liking the taste of the word on his tongue, "how are you finding the French monarchy?"

Clara laid her head on his chest as they swayed. "Young," she sighed, "Marie's younger than Angie, and about half as clever."

"Harsh."

The royal couple took that moment to waltz by, Marie winking at the Doctor as the Dauphin dipped her.

"Flirty too." Clara nearly growled. "Makes you wonder how they coped."

"They didn't," the Doctor reminded her. "Both were beheaded by their former subjects."

"True." Clara admitted. She took a look around at the dancing couples and wondered which of them would be calling for their blood in a few year's time. The Doctor sensed what she was thinking and held her closer to him.

"There's no point," he told her, "we can't warn them."

Clara sighed. "I know, I know."

The rest of the evening flew by, Clara having drink after drink after drink. Dance followed dance, the band playing faster and faster as the guests grew more lively. Time and time again the Doctor found himself on the sidelines, sipping at a goblet of water as Clara was dipped and spun and charmed by countless nobles who seemed to favour her over the Dauphine. No doubt they were angling to take her back to their holdfasts and castles by the end of the night, and the Doctor found himself watching her carefully in case any harm befell her. It wouldn't do for her to whisked away by some stranger. The paradoxes would be horrific, for one.

As the night wore on Clara grew more and more tipsy, and in her drunken state had totally forgotten about her earlier dislike of Marie, chatting amiably with her and giggling at the various bachelor Lords that sauntered past.

"Oh, look at _him_," Marie pointed out a man a couple of years older than her who was eyeing them over the rim of his cup, "isn't he dashing?"

"Mmhmm," Clara slurred back, gazing blearily at the Doctor, wondering if he would dance with her if she asked.

"I wonder what his name is." Pondered Marie. "I bet it's something noble and kingly."

"Who knows," said Clara, swaying, "I don't." She waved drunkenly at the Doctor. He waved back and began to wend his way to her, pushing past the crowd barring his way. Marie followed her line of sight and frowned.

"Isn't that your lord husband?" she asked curiously.

"Yes." Clara sighed wistfully. _I wish,_ she thought longingly. She nudged Marie. "Talking of husbands, where's yours?"

Marie waved a hand vaguely. "Probably waiting for me in his bedchambers. Not a great lover of parties. Shame."

"Ah."

The Doctor reached Clara and took her hand. "Having fun?"

"Lots." she replied, leaning into his shoulder. He offered his cup of water to her and she drank gratefully, clearing her head. Marie noted the concerned gaze on his face and coughed lightly.

"Come," she beckoned to them, "there's something I wish to show you."


	15. Chapter 15- The Ball Part Two

The Doctor and Clara followed Marie up several winding staircases and down a narrow hall. The Doctor kept a careful eye on Clara as they walked, aware that she had drunk a lot of alcohol for somebody her size, worried that she was going to trip and fall even though she had a tight grip on his arm. Just to be safe he placed a hand at the curve at her waist, part guiding her, part holding her up. She tensed and the Doctor was suddenly afraid that he had gone too far, but she soon relaxed into him, shifting her arm from his down to his own, skinnier, waist, slipping it underneath his coat and resting it there. He swallowed at the pressure and curled his fingers around her side in response.

"Where are we going?" Clara asked curiously. They were walking down a carpeted hall the width of her secondary school's main hall, the painted walls lavishly decorated with woven tapestries and countless artifacts balanced on plinths. Clara studied the hangings as she passed. Most represented numerous battles from the history of France; armoured knights holding banners aloft, sigils streaming in the wind, charging down their enemies. Kings on horseback claimed their crowns and defended their lands, boldly leading vast hosts of men-at-arms into battle. Some of them showed other events; coronations, marriages, rebellions, hunts, balls such as the one that they had just left. Huge chandeliers hung from the ceiling above, casting a flickering light on the stitched scenes, the figures coming alive inside the tapestries. Clara shivered and pulled the Doctor a little closer.

"Absolutely no idea," he leaned down to whisper cheerfully in her ear. "Do you?"

She shook her head. They passed the last of the tapestries and came to a halt before a pair of red velvet curtains. Marie reached a hand into the folds and tugged on a hidden rope pulley. The curtains parted in front of them revealing a set of french doors. She reached out both hands and turned the knobs, pulling the doors inwards. As she did so a gust of wind puffed through the opening, making the curtains flutter and flicking the Doctor's quiff back. He smoothed it back into place as Marie stepped through the doors, beckoning a finger for them to follow. Clara went first, disengaging him from her waist, cool air flooding the new gap- a poor substitute for her warmth and feel. The Doctor followed her, grabbing her hand.

Marie had taken them to a balcony; ornate, decades old, crafted out of a white stone that reflected the dim light of the moon. All around and beneath them Versailles spread in all it's beauty, its people gathered in the streets eating, , laughing, dancing and kissing. Clara rested her elbows on the low wall that encircled the balcony, gazing out on the city below.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Marie asked. She waved down to the merrymakers below them and they cheered, raising their flagons of beer to her and shouting her name, some of the drunker ones wolf-whistling her. "All I ever dreamed of," she continued, not waiting for an answer, "so why am I so unhappy?"

Clara drummed her fingers on the parapet, for the first time noticing the Austrian lilt in Marie's voice. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No. I'm from Austria." She said wistfully, a faraway look in her eyes.

"It will get easier, you know." Clara attempted to reassure her. "Your people love you, after all."

"For now, yes," Marie smiled, strained, "but for how long? I am an outsider. My ways are strange to them. It will not be long until they see that, and my downfall will soon follow."

Clara looked to the Doctor, who was leaning against the pillar nearest the door. He shook his head at her sadly. _I'm sorry. _Clara swallowed and turned back to Marie.

"You'll make a great queen," she lied. "One of the best."

Marie sighed. "Thank you, Clara."

_Dong. Dong. Dong. _

The Dauphine blinked with surprise. "Is that the time already? I best be getting back."

"Why?" Clara enquired.

"Louis has to make a speech about the future of France and how grateful he is, blah blah blah, the usual courtesies. You and your silent husband can stay as long as you like." Marie winked at her suggestively. "There are plenty of beds around."

Clara blushed beetroot red and tried to hide it by taking a long drink from the Doctor's goblet. Thankfully he was far enough away that he hadn't heard what Marie had just said. The Dauphine laughed leisurely and sashayed towards the doors, her guards falling in around her as she waved goodbye to Clara.

"I'll see you on the morrow," she called to her, "sometime!"

Clara waved back, more than a little sad through her embarrassment. The Doctor and her would leave later on tonight, and that would be the last they ever saw of Marie alive. Once she was gone Clara's shoulders slumped and she turned back to face the twinkling city below, blinking back tears. Today the people of France cheered for the Dauphine. Who knew what tomorrow and the days after would bring?

_We do, _Clara thought gloomily, _but we can't help her. _

After a moment or two the Doctor came up behind her and draped his coat over her shoulders. Clara started at first then snuggled into it, closing her eyes as the excess body heat warmed her. _  
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"We should get back to the TARDIS," he said, "it's been a long night."

"You can say that again." She stared into the now empty goblet, wishing it was full of wine. The Doctor tensed beside her.

"I thought you enjoyed dancing?" he asked, frowning. He distinctively remembered Clara mentioning her love of the more traditional styles of dance, often having to sit through her fantasising over the dresses on _Strictly Come Dancing _while he was tinkering with the TARDIS.

"I do," she replied, "it's just that seeing Marie...I didn't expect..." Clara struggled to find words for what she was feeling. "She's going to die, and we can't warn her."

"Everybody dies in the end, Clara." _Even you_.

"Not like that. She doesn't deserve to die like that. No-one does." Clara cried in despair.

The Doctor reached out for her awkwardly, hands hovering above her shoulders. "We need to leave," he said, not unkindly, "before you do anything you'll regret."

Clara shrugged him off, bunching her fists on the parapets. "Like what? Save her? Change history- you do that all the time, why not now?"

"Fixed point in time. We can't."

"Of course it would be." She said bitterly.

The Doctor set his shoulders, forcing himself to stay calm. "There's nothing we can do."

Clara said nothing, shoulders slumped, silhouetted against the lights and merriment of the city below. Torchlight painted her hair gold, giving her a halo. As they stood there, it struck the Doctor that this might be the last time that they adventured together. Now that Fenric had claimed Clara as one of his Wolves, it would be increasingly dangerous for him to be involved with her. His Clara would never hurt him, but Fenric now had unlimited access to her mind and soul that would allow him to mess with her thoughts and feelings, enough to make Clara turn against the Doctor if Fenric really wanted her to. The illness too- it had been just three short days since the testing facility- days that felt like a lifetime- and the effects would soon begin to show on Clara's health. Very soon, she would be too ill to even consider getting out of bed, let alone explore alien worlds and discover new galaxies with him.

Overwhelmed by emotions surging through him that he did not care to even try to identify, the Doctor outstretched one hand, palm upwards, towards her.

"One last dance?"

Clara turned around slowly, ever so slowly, and placed her hand in his, refusing to look him in the eye. The Doctor pulled her in to him, snaking one arm around her waist perhaps fractionally lower than usual, clasping her hand gently in his and placing it over the uppermost of his hearts. Clara responded almost cautiously, sliding her other hand up to the corresponding shoulder and tentatively resting her head in the tiny alcove underneath his collarbone, eliminating the last vestiges of space that had remained between them. The jacket fell to the floor, forgotten, as they danced to the faint music drifting through the open balcony doors.

The Doctor leaned his chin on Clara's head, feeling her sigh as he did so. He smiled a little then, dropping a kiss into her hair, wishing that he could hold her closer than was humanly possible. If they were both Time Lord he could have reached out for her mind as well, but he refrained himself for doing so in fear of what the touch of his alien mind could do to her. If she was Gallifreyan like one of her echoes had been he would have tried, but...

_Clara used to be Gallifreyan. _The thought pulled the Doctor up short. Clara had lived a life, on Gallifrey, so she would have been taught how to use her mind by the Elders there. She had mentioned several times before now that she could remember brief flashes of he echoes- sights, smell, people- every once in a while, Gallifrey being the most vivid. What if she had retained her psyche training? What if she could still communicate like that?

The Doctor closed his eyes and focused his mind, reaching across the emptiness that separated them for the light of Clara's mind. As he reached out the clamor of other peoples' thoughts and feelings near overwhelmed him, reminding him why he did not do this very often. Humans had no clue how to control their mental faculties and as a consequence he was constantly privy to every thought or feeling they had, which, in some cases, was not a very pleasant experience. He did his best to ignore them and searched for Clara amongst the chaos, becoming increasingly frustrated when he could not.

_Come on, Clara. Where are you?_

Off to his far left, another light flickered into view. He gave it a cursory glance, dismissing it as another of the guests, before he realised that it wasn't saying anything. He brushed against the warmth of the mind gently, carefully, testing it.

And slowly, like a flower, it opened to him, her mind enveloping his even as he did the same. It was warm and fuzzy, intoxicated by the amount of alcohol in her bloodstream, confused by the intimacy that it hadn't experienced for at least a thousand years. But it was undeniably Clara.

He hung on the threshold of her mind, letting her decide whether to let him in or not, but it soon became clear that he was not going to get a response from her. She was too intoxicated, too tired and ill to care about what was happening in her mind. Maybe it was better this way. Neither Clara nor Fenric would know what he was doing in her mind, putting him one step ahead in the game. The Doctor brushed into her mind, whispers of Clara's thoughts drifting by. It was so tempting just to join their minds and have done with it, but instead he kept his distance, searching through her brain for the psychological mark that Fenric would have left on her. He was lucky that Clara was so distracted; he would never have got in this far if she hadn't been. Which led him to wonder-

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. The Doctor jumped out of his skin, whirling in Clara's mind to find the culprit.

_There's no point trying to hide, Doctor. I can see you, even if she can't._

The Doctor cursed his bad luck. Fenric had caught him.

_Where are you?_

_Careful with the questions now, or I'll wake her up. I'm sure she would love to know why you're snooping around. _

_I'm not snooping around. I'm trying to help her. _

Fenric laughed. The sound came from all around them, echoing through Clara's mind. The Doctor could feel her beginning to stir.

_Trying to help her? By delving into her mind without her permission? I think not, Doctor. You want to evict me from my lovely Clara's mind. _

_She is not your's! _

_Oh, but she is. Her mind is mine. _

The Doctor ground his teeth, frustrated. _Leave her alone. What has she got to do with us? _

_Everything. You do remember the princess, don't you?_

_Of course I do. _How could he forget?_ Just let Clara, this Clara, be. Come and face me, one last time. Do whatever you want to me, just leave her alone! _

_Hmm. Tempting but you know what...I don't think I will. I'm not quite finished with her yet. You do recall her sickness, don't you?_

_Yes. _The Doctor thought cautiously. Back in the physical world he held Clara tighter to him as she mumbled against his chest fitfully, as if he could protect her from Fenric if he only hugged her close enough.

_It has been a bit dormant hasn't it? Now up here, I have access to it. I could make the process accelerate._

_Don't you dare._

_Oh, I dare. _

Back on the balcony, Clara screamed in agony. Her legs buckled underneath her and the Doctor scooped her up as she thrashed, whispering sweet nothings in her ear helplessly. In her mind her aurora flashed red as Fenric fiddled with the cells in her body.

_Stop it! Fenric stop hurting her! FENRIC! _

In a ditch attempt to stop the pain the Doctor dived into her mind, closing off neural pathways and shutting off nerves, hastily constructing mental blocks to Fenric.

_Nice try, _Fenric almost giggled, touching another batch of cells holding the illness. The cells divided and multiplied before the Doctor's eyes, smashing through his blocks and causing Clara to cry out again, back arching. The Doctor struggled to keep her in his arms, hands stroking her arms, her back, her legs, desperately trying to soothe the pain. Clara's consciousness flickered.

_Oh look, she's awake, _Fenric commented as he snapped shut a feedback loop that made Clara cry out in pain once more. _I think I'll leave you two to it now. _He gave the Doctor a jaunty wave as his presence began to fade.

_No! Fenric, no...please..._

Fenric smiled at the Doctor smugly. _Goodbye, Time Lord._

_FENRIC!_

The Doctor tried to reach him but he was gone, the only remnant of him a tiny scar that split part of Clara's mind. He swore, feeling the pain in Clara's mind swelling, wincing in sympathy as she let out wordless cries of pain, voice long since lost.

_Doctor...please...help me...please..._

She brushed his mind tiredly, seeking comfort, and he was more than happy to oblige her, mentally cradling her even as he did the same physically. The Doctor could sense her confusion as well as her pain and realised that she had no idea what had just gone on in her head.

_Stay as still as you can, _he advised her, before withdrawing from her brain completely. He left just enough of a link between them so that he could monitor her condition, Clara clinging to it desperately for some kind of comfort. He jolted back into his body, still clutching Clara as she struggled, moaning. He placed her on his jacket which still lay on the floor and hurriedly unpacked all of the medicines he had brought with them as a precaution. None of them would be able to stop the pain- the damage had been done in her mind, not in her body: the cells of the sickness would continue to multiply even if a direct cure was administered. To stop this he would have to halt it at it's source, override the damage that Fenric had done to her. He could dull the pain for her, though, so he set to work, hands shaking as he strapped the oxygen mask back onto her face, nearly spilling the morphine as he filled a syringe full of the drug.

_Pull yourself together Doctor, _he reprimanded himself, _she's relying on you._

He plunged the syringe into her arm, holding her down as a fist came flying at his face. Through their link he felt the drug spreading through her system and the relief it brought her, Clara's muscles relaxing as the pain was dulled. She went limp under him but the Doctor knew that the worst was far from over, scooping her up into his arms once more and running to the TARDIS, awkwardly lugging the oxygen tank behind him. He needed to get her to the hospital on New New New New Earth, where Doctor Whyatt could have a proper look over her and determine a course of action for them. He would do it on board the TARDIS, but she wasn't fully equipped to deal with something as serious as this, and he was way too emotionally invested in Clara to be able to treat her properly.

He took the stairs down to the ballroom two at a time, mentally nudging Clara through their link as he went. She gave him the slightest of nudges back, just enough to let him know that she was still there, still alive, hanging on for him.

_Hang in there, Clara. Just a little longer, I promise. _He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead as he reached the TARDIS and unceremoniously kicked the doors open.

_I promise._


	16. Chapter 16- Reverse The Damage

As soon as the TARDIS landed the Doctor rocketed through the doors, one hand cradling the back of Clara's head so she wasn't bumped on their way out. He had shifted her in his arms so that her arms were looped around his neck, legs wound firmly around his waist her knees bracing against his hips. Any other time he would have been distracted by the intimacy of the embrace, the way Clara would involuntarily nuzzle her head into his neck every time a wave of pain threatened to overcome her and her legs and arms would tighten, pulling him towards her, but he was too concerned by the screams and pleas for help that echoed through their conjoined minds that accompanied the actions to care. He had deepened the link between them when he realised that it gave Clara a degree of comfort to feel his presence, but it did nothing for his already frayed nerves as he was constantly aware of the agony that Fenric was putting her through.

The Doctor had parked the TARDIS in the middle of a busy ward, bypassing reception and the endless delays that were sure to have accompanied it. Delays that could cost Clara her life. He ran down the central aisle, patients in the rows of beds on either side gawking at them as they passed, and barrelled into a smaller, more private room off to the side-rooms that were usually reserved for the terminally ill. Luckily this one was empty and the Doctor once again shielded Clara against his full-speed impact with the door, this time turning his whole body so his back took the most of it, and once they were through gently lowering her onto the bed, disengaging her limbs from him to tuck her in. Clara began to panic as he layed her down. She had no clue where they were or what they were doing, and the only sense her mind could make of the situation was that he was abandoning her for somebody else to deal with and running off.

_Doctor?_

She was only capable of sending him one-word messages at a time: whether that was a result the lack of finesse humans had with mental communication or her current state, he had no idea. Still, it was remarkable that she could communicate at all, as ill as she was.

_Still here. _He reassured her, _Hospital. Safe._

She moaned as another wave racked her body. Her frail, beautiful body. _Quickly._

He poked his head out of the door and grabbed a passing nurse by the elbow on her way past. "Doctor Whyatt. Where is she?"

The nurse just stared at him, wide-eyed. He gave her a shake. " I need Kim. _Now._"

She shook her head softly. "I...I'm sorry, sir, I don't know where she is."

The Doctor growled with frustration. "Find her then! I don't care where she is, or what she's doing, just bring her to me. Now." His words were punctuated with a particularly loud yelp from Clara, tugging at his heartstrings. The nurse stood, feet rooted to the floor, mouth agape. The last of his patience gone the Doctor finally began to crack under the pressure.

_"_FIND HER. _NOW_, BEFORE I DO SOMETHING I WILL REGRET," he yelled.

The nurse ran.

Kim was signing a stack of paperwork in her office when the nurse burst through the door, panting and bent double from the speed she had run. Kim frowned and set the various files she had been varificating to one side, waving her colleague inside. Nurse Swann waved her off.

"No time. There's a man in Intensive Care demanding to see you."

Kim's blood went cold. "Did he leave a name?"

She shook her head. "No. He was very agitated. I think he had somebody with him. I checked at reception, but he hasn't signed in."

Kim shrugged into her doctor's coat. _Sounds like him_. "On a scale of one to ten, how distressed was he?"

"I'd say eleven."

_It's him, and presumably Clara too._ Kim snapped into action, barking instructions to the nurse as she left her office and began to jog, taking the quickest route as possible in a crowded hospital. "Quarantine the beds around the room they're in. We don't know what she has, could be contagious. Assign all available staff to her and ready an Operating Theatre. We may need it." She listed the equipment and drugs she would require then let Nurse Swann go, the younger woman threading her way to the staff room to grab as many members of staff as she could.

When Kim arrived at the room five minutes later a trolley was already outside, fully equipped with the medicines and machinery that she would need. She wheeled it in ahead of her, bracing herself for what she was about to witness inside. If the Doctor- the most upbeat, positive, confident alien she knew- was distressed then lord knows what she was about to find.

The Doctor jumped up as she walked in, leaping from his seat as if it were electricuted. He opened his mouth to speak but she cut across him.

"No time," she said shortly, "do as I say, and she might just stand a chance. Okay?"

He nodded and, for once, obeyed, remaining silent.

"Good," said Kim. "What's her symptoms?"

The Doctor explained as quickly and simply as he could what had happened. She listened carefully as she hooked the girl up to the monitors and attached a morphine drip to her arm. By the time he had finished the rest of her team had shown up, sitting outside in case they were needed.

"So what you're saying is, " Kim said slowly, turning the situation over in her mind, "to stop the acceleration you need to heal the damage within her mind while I keep the pain down to a managable level?"

"Yes," said the Doctor tersely, eager to skip the talking and get to the healing part of his plan.

"You do realise that it may not reverse the damage? That the acceleration will be stopped, but the illness will stay advanced and she'll die anyway?"

He looked down at her. "I know the risks Kim," he said bitterly, "but I'd rather she died in comfort, at home, surrounded by her family friends than alone and in agony."

Kim nodded, and for the first time saw a flicker of an emotion that she had never once seen before in his eyes. Here was a man who had looked death in the eye and scorned it more than once; had put his life and that of his friends on the line in schemes so daring and reckless that it left the legs of lesser men trembling and quaking at the very thought. But not once, not once ever in the time that she had known him, had she seen this- written so plainly across his features that even a blind man could have seen it.

Defeat.

The Doctor had given up.


	17. Chapter 17- Healing Touch

The process took hours.

In theory, it was simple- get her as comfortable as possible then counteract the intricate traps that Fenric had woven into her mind, the traps that were causing the illness to grow stronger with every passing minute. But the Doctor hadn't anticipated just how intricate those traps would be and how deeply they were ingrained into her mind, and that set him back for a while as he tried to calculate every option open to him and which would be best for Clara. Even then, her mind was unfamiliar to him and he could end up doing more harm than good- it was very easy to make a mistake midway an operation as delicate as this and amplify the damage that already existed. He also hadn't imagined that Fenric would fight back.

"Hold her down!" He instructed Kim, stuggling to keep his hands on Clara's temples as the woman thrashed and slapped at him. Fenric had used his leverage in her brain to gain control over her limbs and, although Clara was fighting back, was doing everything he could to disrupt the Doctor.

"How?" Kim cried back desperately, "she's too strong!"

As if to emphasize the point Clara slammed her fist down on the bedside table on her right, splintering the wood.

"I don't know! You're the doctor!" He ducked and avoided what would have been a stinging slap from Clara, abandoning his futile attempts to hold her head down and grabbing on to her wrists instead. Kim called in her team and they surrounded the bed, holding Clara down while one went to fetch restraints. Clara/Fenric fought, but she was pinned down to the bed, held at an angle where no matter how much she twisted she would not be able to get near the Doctor. He resumed his mental contact with Clara, resting his hands on her head once more to strengthen it and make it more stable. As soon as the contact was re-established he closed his eyes and sank into her mind once more, picking up the threads of her consciousness that he had dropped when he had been so rudely shaken out of her. As he began to weave the threads back where they belonged he could sense the dark presence of Fenric poisoning her mind, a dark shadow that threw the corners of her brain into a deep murk. The Doctor did his best to ignore it, focusing on the task at hand. Should he make a mistake the consequences could be catastrophic for the both of them- the slightest falter could kill Clara and take him with her; he was so deep in her mind he would not be able to seperate their consciousnesses fast enough to escape.

Minutes, maybe even hours, later- there was no concept of time when intimately linked with another being- the nurse returned with the restraints and strapped Clara down onto the bed. The Doctor felt Fenric twist at the straps through her wrists, testing them, and he held his breath as the fabric straps and buckles creaked.

_Would they hold?_ he wondered as he gently nudged the last of Clara's neural pathways back into it's original alignment, _or do we need to knock Clara out? _He hoped not. If she was unconscious his job would become ten times harder- her brain wouldn't respond as well to what he was doing, and that would give him no clue if he was healing her properly. He would be fumbling in unfamiliat territory, quite literally in the dark.

Fenric/Clara strained against her bonds, but after a few minutes it became clear that they were going to hold. The Doctor paused just long enough to give Clara an encouraging mental nuzzle, which she wearily returned, before starting on the final piece of the puzzle.

_Right then, _he thought to her, rubbing his hands, _what do we have here?_

A cluster of cells hovered on the edge of her brain, growing, multiplying, then splitting off from the main body to travel through her and settle someplace else. When he looked closer he realised that there was not one, not two, but five clusters of a similar composition already scattered through her organs and nestled in her bones.

_Ah. _One he could manage, with time and several other Time Lords to assist him. He would fix it himself eventually- but five was a completely different story. He had neither the time nor any other Time Lords to help him with this; no doubt that was the reason why Fenric had chosen to include this particular strain of illness in his fatal injection. The Doctor silently screamed with frustration. He couldn't cure it. Not this. It was too advanced and too rooted in her body for him to treat it. It was so far in her, almost a part of her body.

It was his failure, and her death sentence.

All of a sudden, he began to cry.


	18. Chapter 18- Changes

Clara took a deep breath. Then another. She could breathe, at least. Under the heavy duvet she flexed her limbs experimentally, rolling her shoulders, testing her elbow joint, wiggling her fingers. All fine. Reassured by the state of her upper body she arched her back, stretching the tense muscle there. When it responded she tried moving her legs, folding them up, pointing her feet and curling her toes inwards.

Nothing happened.

Clara kept her eyes closed and tried again, this time stretching her upper body as well. Her head, neck, shoulders, arms and waist all obeyed her commands but below that, she was resolutely still.

_This is a bad dream, _she told herself, _a nightmare. I fell over on the balcony in France and knocked myself out. I'll wake up in a minute, and the Doctor will pick me up, brush my shoulders and tell me how stupid I was to drink so much wine. _

She focused on that image in her mind for a moment, and when she was feeling ready, steeled her nerves and opened her eyes. Harsh artificial light flooded in and she squinted, lifting her head. She was in a hospital bed, a drip attached to her arm. At the foot of her bed a TV hung on the wall, a sofa bed placed beneath it. To her right was a bedside table, a plate of uneaten food and a glass of water on the side furthest away from her. The glass was half-empty. On the other side of the table was a row of windows, currrently shuttered by a pair of blinds. Underneath the windows sat the Doctor, asleep for once, hands folded in his lap and head lolling back, snoring softly. His suit was rumpled, bow tie hanging loose, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His face was streaked with red, as if he been rubbing at it before he fell asleep. There was a chair next to his with a white coat slung over the back, but no-one was sitting there.

Clara lay in the bed for a while, wondering where she was. In the back of her mind she thought she heard a voice telling her that it was a hospital, that she was safe. That she was in a hospital she did not doubt, but safe was a whole different can of worms.

She looked around the room for a while, noting the futuristic equipment that was dotted around her, then decided to try to move again. She looked down at her disobediant body and _willed_ it to move, willed her legs to shift under the duvet and push her into a sitting position. Somebody had changed her out of her dress while she was unconscious into a plain white shift. She was glad that future hospitals included a back to their gowns; walking around with her bum on show around the Doctor was one thing that she definately didn't want to experience. She amused herself for a while, thinking about the reaction that he would have to it. He would blush, stutter, then make up some repair he had to do to the TARDIS so he could get away from the awkwardness of the situation as quickly as possible.

And all the while she was imagining how scandalised the Doctor would look, her lower body still refused to move.

No longer able to avoid what her body was telling her, she used her elbows to pull herself up into a sitting position. It was hard, slow work, shifting herself up inch by inch, her legs dead weights, but she managed it. Once she was up she swung the duvet off her, curled the fingers of her right hand into a tight fist, and punched her thigh with everything she had. Clara braced herself for the pain that was sure to follow and blinked with surprise when there wasn't any. She didn't feel a thing.

Clara punched her other thigh, willing it to hurt, but the only reward she got was a red mark that was sure to turn into a ripe bruises the next day, taunting her, telling her that it should sting. But it didn't. She let out a wordless cry of despair, jolting the Doctor awake in his chair. He was up immediately, hovering by her bed uncertainly.

"How do you feel?" He asked, voice raw and scratchy, as if he had been crying.

Somehow, Clara managed to find her voice. "I'm paralysed," she told him.

"What? Sorry, _what_?"

"My legs. I can't feel or move my legs." Clara watched him silently as his face worked through the familiar motions the Doctor's face went through when confronted with something he couldn't deal with. Disbelief, realisation, shock, then despair and was that...was that _grief_?

The Doctor pulled the sonic out of his pocket then scanned her, shaking his head, scanning her over and over and over and over and over, hitting the sonic against his palm, his forehead, the table, as if abusing the sonic would make it tell him what he wanted to hear.

"Doctor," she sighed, reaching out her arms as far as they would go. "Stop."

He placed the sonic on the table and turned on his heel, marching back to his chair. He sat there seething, arms gripping the arms of the chair. Clara folded her hands in her lap for something to do and smoothed the duvet around her. She fruitlessly searched for something to say, but her eyes were drawn to the red rings and bags underneath his eyes, the yawning gap in his collar where his bow tie usually rested. "What happened to your bow tie?"

"I took it off. Don't feel like wearing it anymore." When he spoke, he spoke at his knees, like he couldn't bear to look at her. Somehow this hurt her more than losing her legs, and Clara stared down at her legs, willing the expanse of muscle to move.

"What do we do next?" The Doctor asked her. "Clara, what do we do? What do I do? I never-" he stopped talking abruptly. "Sorry. Selfish."

Clara shook her head. "It's OK. You're OK. C'mere, I can't reach all the way over there." She lifted her arms to prove her point. The Doctor pushed himself up wearily from the armchair and knelt by the bed so she could land her hands at his shoulders. She was twisted awkwardly, though, so the Doctor gently pulled her knees around so they hung off the side of the bed and she was comfortable. Clara smiled her thanks, hands sliding to his collar to feel the silky bow tie hanging loose underneath. She did up the buttons on his shirt then began to tie the fabric back into it's accustomed shape and position. The Doctor frowned and caught her wrists, stopping her.

"What are you doing?" he asked her suspiciously.

"Fixing your bow tie," she said matter-of-factly, "I missed it earlier." Clara smiled sweetly at him, and he grudgingly let go of her wrists. She finished and patted it proudly. "There. Now you look like you."

"I don't feel like me." He told her honestly.

"Neither do I," she replied.

The door to the room opened and in walked a woman that Clara did not know, reading the contents of a cardboard file. The Doctor seemed to, though; when the woman walked in he got up from his knees, Clara's hands falling back in her lap.

"Kim, " he said by way of greeting. The woman, Kim, looked up at the sound of his voice. When she saw Clara awake her eyes widened.

"You're alive." She stated. She sounded surprised.

Clara cocked an eyebrow. "Alive and kicking," she said cheerfully. The Doctor winced at her choice of words and Clara grimaced. "Sorry."

Kim looked at the Doctor for an explanation.

"H-Her lower body is paralysed." He got out.

Kim nearly dropped her folder. "How? I thought you said you were successful?"

"Successful? Successful doing what?" Clara butted in.

"Healing you," the Doctor told her, then to Kim, "I did my best, but there was one disease...one that I couldn't cure. It's in her legs and joints."

Kim flicked through the file in her hands. "Her tests said it was benign." she observed.

"Well, it obviously isn't." The Doctor shot back angrily.

"If it's in my joints, can I become completely paralysed?" Clara asked, worried.

"Possibly. Maybe. It wasn't unheard of for Time Lords to become fully paralysed because of it."

"Could you treat full paralysis?" Kim asked.

The Doctor nodded and for a moment Clara was hopeful, until he said "But the only way to treat it was to force regeneration. The energy would burn up the infected cells during the change."

Clara's heart sank. "So what do we do?"

"We wait," the Doctor said sadly. "We wait and see what happens."

"And if nothing happens or I get worse?"

The Doctor hung his head. "Fenric gets what he wants. You die, and he wins."


	19. Chapter 19- Underneath the Stars

"How long was I out for? A day?" Clara guessed as she picked at her tray full of grey mush. It was hospital food, engineered to taste like the food from the particular era or planet that the patient hailed from. All the dishes looked the same- like grey mashed potato, or, as Clara had overhead some of the less tasteful trainee nurses calling it, a pulped human brain. Which hadn't done a lot for her already small appetite. This dish was supposed to be roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, but tasted more like when you leave leftovers in the fridge for too long and it takes on the flavouring of the fridge itself. In his armchair the Doctor pushed his own food around the plate balanced across his knees as he considered her question.

"A night and a half? Two days? Hard to tell when you're-" he motioned between their heads with his fork "-with another person. A day at least."

Clara nodded. "I thought so," she said, loading up her spoon with mush. "No hangover from France- must've slept through it."

"Better than the alternative, I suppose." the Doctor replied, taking a long drink from his glass of water.

"Trying to wash out the taste?" Clara teased. He pulled a face.

"Might as well be. Even you can cook better than this," he said disgustedly, watching as the mush slopped from his fork onto his plate with a large _splat._

"Oi!" Clara retorted. "I'm an excellent cook, I'll have you know." She grabbed a cushion from behind her and flung it at him. She deliberately aimed to miss, but the Doctor nevertheless jumped when it hit the wall behind him with a loud _thunk_.

"Clara! You could've hit me!" He scolded her. She jabbed her fork threateningly at him, eyes narrowed.

"Just because I'm paralysed from the waist down does _not_ make me any less dangerous."

"Only if I don't run," he returned.

"Well then," Clara said, "I'll buy myself one of those electronic wheelchairs and _mow you down._"

He gasped in mock-horror. "Violence, Oswald, is not the answer." He admonished. He ate some of his dinner and pulled a face. "Except, maybe, when it comes to hospital food."

"I'm with you there," Clara told him. They had been living at the hospital for two days now while Kim ran extra tests and tried to amend the tablets that Clara took so they were strong enough to at least slow down the spread of the paralysis to her upper body. More often than not the Doctor was in the lab with her, but Clara had begged him to take a break and eat with her. As far as she knew, this was his first meal in days. He had shut himself away with Doctor Whyatt to help, of that Clara was sure, but she also had a sneaking suspicion that it was an excuse to keep away from her, not out of spite, but fear. Fear of what had happened to her, and what may happen still. He just didn't know how to deal with it.

Clara, on the other hand, had found that joking and laughing about it made the situation a little less threatening, and sometimes even made the Doctor and her various nurses laugh. It took some of the tension out of her day and a laugh or a joke now and again helped to keep all their spirits up. Even if they sometimes did fall flat.

"How's the tests coming along?" Clara asked the Doctor. He very rarely gave her updates, if at all, and Kim was never around for Clara to ask. His face darkened at her question.

"Okay, I suppose. We've managed to create the formula that will extend your life by a few weeks, but...it isn't enough. Not for you."

_Not for you. _A small thrill went through Clara. He had said it in a tone of voice that suggested that no matter how many days, weeks, months or even years the medication added on to her life, no length of time would be enough. That he wanted her by his side always. Clara pushed her plate away from her, ignoring the warmth in her belly that had flickered into life in response to his words.

"Should give me enough time to sort everything out, though," she replied on a whisper, "say goodbye to everyone."

Not for the first time she found herself wondering what she would say to them all. She had told her Father that she had caught a tropical disease while travelling, which, when you think about it, wasn't that far from the truth. If she got the Doctor to land the TARDIS a week ahead of when she left, she might just be able to pull it off. Clara thought about all the people she was going to leave behind. Her family, her work colleagues, Danny who brought her a coffee from Costa every day before work, her students, George and the Maitland kids- and, of course, the Doctor. She looked up at him. He was still in his chair, but his head was hanging low on his chest, jaw working slowly back and forth.

"Doctor?" she said hesitantly. Momentarily forgetting herself she tried to get up and cursed her useless legs when she couldn't. "Doctor," she held her arms out to him, "_please._"

His head snapped up at her plea. Clara didn't know what she wanted from him, but some sign of affection, any sign, would be better than the physical distance between them that Clara yearned to close. Instead the Doctor choked back a sob and fled the room, tears streaming down his cheeks as he fled the room, leaving a hurt and sad Clara by herself in the cold and empty room.

Once the door to Clara clicked shut the Doctor ran through the ward as fast as his long legs would take him. Salty tears continued to roll down his face as he ran. He needed to get out, out, out, away from it all, Fenric, Clara, everything, all of it. He needed to escape.

The Doctor shoved past staff and patients alike in his haste to get out of the building, ignoring the outraged shouts and stares as he bulled past. When he finally reached the lifts he pushed the lift call button so many times he thought it would break, and once it arrived with a _ding _charged into the carriage and punched the 'ground floor' button with a clenched fist. When the lift started to move he leant against the oak handrail that ran along the side and rested his head on the cold metal mirror. Cheesy pop songs filtered through the tinny speakers above his head. The Doctor exhaled slowly, trying to relieve some of the stress that he was feeling. The adrenaline was beginning to drain from his body, and in its aftermath came the guilt. He had run from her, like a coward, thinking only of himself. His cheeks burned with shame. What would Clara think of him?

The lift slid to a stop, the doors sliding smoothly open with a _ping_. The Doctor stepped out and held the doors for the young family waiting outside. When they were in he set off across the reception, boots clicking on the polished laminate flooring. He was heading toward the hospital gardens; a quiet, secluded spot where he could sit and think without the hustle and bustle that inevitably comes with health institutions. The gardens were contained beneath a sterilised dome that prevented patient exposure to potentially harmful bacteria, and provided them with a safe environment to enjoy nature in. There was an artificial sun in the dome simulating the conditions that the plants growing inside would need to survive, and the gardens also doubled as a medical research facility that scientists could examine the various properties of plants and test to see of they would be of any use as a form of medication. The calm atmosphere would allow him to clear his head and think without distractions. This way, he could hopefully figure out what he and Clara were to do next. She had to go home, that much was obvious. But when? And how were they going to explain her position to the health care service back on Earth? They would need legal documents, evidence, explanations to her condition. Explanations that he wasn't sure he could give.

The Doctor ascended a flight of steps and turned left, right, then left again. He passed through a set of double doors that led onto a carpeted walkway that encircled the dome. Walking quickly now, he searched for one of the many sets of automatic sliding doors that led into the dome. He eventually found one and fished his ID card out of his breast pocket. Kim had issued him with one several years ago, when he had helped the hospital deal with a break out of Chen7, the plague that targeted two-hearted beings. The Doctor had had to orchestrate the whole operation from within the TARDIS console room. He had saved some lives that day. Some, but not all.

The Doctor swiped his card across the reader and the door popped open. He stepped across the threshold. The inside of the dome was overflowing with life, plant and alien. Brightly coloured flowers of all different shapes and sizes lined the gravel paths, tall and exotic trees curving over to make a sort of archway. Odd insects buzzed from bud to bud, collecting nectar and pollenating other plants. At the end of the gravel walkway the towering trees and opened out to reveal a vast waterfall that splashed into a deep pool filled with clear blue water. Benches, intricately carved, surrounded the pool. Most of them were made out of a kind of wood, but others were made with soft fabrics and covered with plump cushions so patients who found it harder to sit could stay there comfortably. It was quiet under the dome; it was too late for the patients to be out of their beds. The night shift at the hospital had started. The artificial sun had set in the dome a long time ago, and the Doctor settled into one of the wooden chairs to watch the stars come out.

_Clara would love this garden. _He thought to himself as the stars twinkled friendly above him. _She would umm and aah at all the different species of plants and ask me what they were, and what each star in the sky above us was called. _He would tell her, of course: set her down in a chair and explain each and every kind of plant and insect that he could see. The stars were artificial, he'd tell her, so instead she would insist on giving each one a name herself. After a while. she would tire, and fall asleep right there on the bench next to him, too stubborn to have admitted she was growing tired to him, determined to name every single star up there. He would finish for her as he lifted her back into her chair, whispering how if they were real, he would take her to see them all. Would take her, if only he could find a way.

The Doctor sat in his chair for a long time as the stars then the moon came into view and burned brightly, the insects' constant buzzing quieting down to a tiny chatter as the nocturnal creatures, much fewer in number than their daytime companions, took over the watch. He stayed perfectly still, but the restlessness of his eyes betrayed the agitation and desperation of the alien inside. He had a composed, relaxed air about him, when in reality he was a man on the edge. His companion was terminally ill and, for the first time, he had no idea what to do. It did not matter how hard he searched; he would not find a cure. He began to wonder if Fenric had one. It would make sense if he did, in case the disease was used against him, but the Doctor doubted that Fenric would let him use the cure for Clara even if he got down onto his knees and begged for it. There was no love lost between the two aliens.

And under the stars, with a gentle breeze caressing his face and the soft sound of the waterfall tinkling in his ears, he finally accepted that Clara could never be cured.

A lump rose in his throat and he swallowed it down. Now was not the time to grieve; there would be plenty oppportunity for that later. Right now, underneath the stars, he needed to decide what to do. How they would tackle this. She would have to move back to Earth- Clara would want time with her family, no matter how much she complained to him about them most of the time. She would want to see her friends as well, and possibly her students too. He couldn't deny her that. On the official side of things, the Doctor would have to forge some medical papers and flash his psychic paper around a bit for the NHS to turn a blind eye to their sudden appearance on Earth with an alien illness. UNIT could probably pull a few strings there too. He was also certain that Fenric wouldn't bother them now that Clara was so ill, so he wouldn't have to worry about setting any defences in place around Clara's flat. Although it would be a good idea to possibly set up some sort of tracking device on Clara or a detector in her house, just in case.

But more importantly than anything than this, was Clara herself. Her as a human. Taking care of her. He frowned at the implications. It would be difficult living with her, to be sure, but it was nothing that either of them couldn't handle.

But first things first. He had to apologise, to convince her that he would not walk out on her again. The Doctor had had enough of running. It was time he faced the situation head on, time that he stopped hurting his friends by leaving then behind. It was time he took some responsibility.

His face set with determination he rose from the bench, taking the path quickest to Clara. On the way he stopped by the hospital gift shop on reception (he did _love _a good gift shop) and bought her a bouquet of white peonies and a plastic green pot to put them in. The woman at the till smiled at him as he payed.

"Someone special?" she asked as she counted out his change.

"You could say that, yeah." He replied, and thanked her on the way out.

The Doctor forewent the lift and leaped up the staircase three steps at a time, too impatient to wait for the lift. He imagined her reaction to the flowers, sniffing them and smiling at the familiar scent, listening to his apology with a furrowed brow. He wouldn't expect her to forgive him straight away- instead he would simply leave the flowers at her bedside, say the words he needed to say then leave her to sleep in peace. She deserved it.

When he reached her door he licked the palm of his hand and smoothed his quiff back nervously, examining his reflection critically in the window. For although he knew her like the back of his hand, he wasn't sure whether she would forgive him or not. Their relationship had been through some tough times recently, what with the kidnap and her nearly leaving (he shivered at the thought), and his sudden run from her might have convinced her that he didn't want her there after all. A notion that couldn't be further from the truth.

He straightened his bow tie and, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, pushed open the door. Almost immediately he could feel the weight of her eyes watching him, assessing him. The lights were off and the blinds closed, but Clara was sat upright in bed, arms folded firmly across her chest. It was plain that she hadn't slept- her eyes were drooping shut with tiredness, a detail that the Doctor just managed to make out from the faint glow of the reading lamp that she had requested on her bedside table. The rest of her features were thrown into shadow. The Doctor cleared his throat. "I brought you flowers," he told her, "white peonies. I heard they were your favourite."

She continued to watch him. Her eyes followed him as he crossed to the table, placing the flowers there temporarily so he could fill the pot with tap water from the sink next to her bed. When it was half full he removed the plastic from the flowers, arranging them in the vase so Clara could see them from their best angle. He reached over and turned up the lamp. "There," he said to the flowers, her gaze too much for him to bear, "we can see each other now." He smiled weakly. A few seconds of awkward silence ensued. The Doctor forced himself to look at her then wished he hadn't. Clara very rarely wore her heart on her sleeve but she was doing that now, her sadness and grief etched plainly across her face. "Clara-"

"Why?" Her voice was a low, hoarse whisper, full of hurt. "Why did you run?"

He swung his arms awkwardly by his sides, before sitting down on the bed, facing her. "It was too much," he admitted, "I couldn't bear the thought of...the slightest idea that..."

"Fenric would win?" She asked coldly. The Doctor reeled back as if she had physically struck him.

"_No! _No. Never that. Never."

"What then?"

He closed his eyes. "L-losing you. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. So I ran."

"So you ran," she agreed, her eyes softened slightly at his confession, "you ran when I asked for your help. For your comfort."

"I came back," he pointed out pathetically, "with flowers."

"You did." A pause. "You know, I actually believed that you had gone to the TARDIS and flown away without me. Left me here to die."

"You know I would never-"

"You've done it to others." She pointed out cruelly. He took a sharp intake of breath, a scar opening in his heart.

"Yes. Yes I did," he replied, "and they deserved a lot better. They _al__l_did. But _they're not you._"

"No?"

"No." He took her hands in his own. "And I am not going to do to you what I did to them. I will not leave you. I'm going to stay by you to your last breath, you hear me?" He twined their fingers together and kissed the tips. "I will not leave you again. I promise. Cross my hearts. I swear, Clara, I am. Not. Going. To. Run." His vision blurred and it took him a moment to realise that both of them were crying. "I promise." He whispered to her, over and over. He scooted closer to her on the bed and dropped her hands, opening his arms to her and she fell into them. He repeated it to her, again and again, voicing growing stronger in conviction with every repeat. He rocked her gently until both of their sobs subsided and she eventually fell asleep, head nestled into his shirt. Without breaking contact he lay them both down, tucking them in snugly. Once he was sure she was as comfortable as she could be he tried to extricate himself from her arms, but whenever he moved away she clung on tighter, and it would be cruel to use her disability against her and escape. So instead he (with some difficulty) removed his shoes, blazer, bow tie and waistcoat, letting her pull herself closer to him. He slung an arm over her waist protectively and watched her sigh and mumble in her sleep, feeling his own eyelids droop as he listened to her rhythmic breathing and felt her body heat warming him and the bed. He yawned, then rested a cheek against her hairline, figuring that Kim could do without him in the lab for one night. Just one.

After all, him and Clara had earned several times over at least one night of peace together.


	20. Chapter 20-A Gift

The Doctor opened his eyes slowly. Bars of sunlight flitered through the open blinds, painting his features a striped gold. Sometime earlier a nurse must have come in on her rounds- the blinds had been opened and Clara's morning medication was sitting on the table. The waistcoat, bow tie and shoes he had left on the floor were all neatly folded on the armchair.

The Doctor looked down at Clara, asleep on his chest. At some point during the night they had moved positions so she was now sprawled across him, hair tickling his chin, one arm draped along his ribs and another on the arm that was holding her to him. Her legs were hopelessy twisted and tangled with his and he reached down between them with his free hand to where he could reposition them so they were straight. Several of his shirt buttons had come undone as well, and he could feel the cold tip of her nose raising goosebumps on his chest where it rested. He lifted a hand to rub at his face, yawning. He hadn't slept more than a few hours on and off in days, and it felt good to wake up well rested and not have to worry whether Clara was still there or not, if Fenric had taken her from him in the night. He moved one hand up to her shoulder blade, keeping the other around her waist, wondering if he should wake her. The sun was nearly fully up behind the blinds, and soon her team of nurses would be coming in to feed, wash and dress her. He imagined their faces when they saw them together in the bed. _Let them look all they like, _he thought, _it doesn't bother me what they think about us._

Soon enough someone did come in, but it wasn't who he was expecting. "Kim!" he said groggily. "What're you doing up so early?"

Kim placed a tray of food and another packet of medicine on the table. "It's ten in the morning, Doctor," she pointed out. "I started my shift three hours ago."

He had slept in until ten? "You did?" he asked. It was unlike him to sleep for so long- he was usually too full of energy to sleep for more than four, maybe five, hours at a time. Six at a push.

"Where're Clara's nurses? Shouldn't they be here by now?" At the sound of her name Clara stirred slightly against his chest, mumbling something into his shirt. Her lips brushed his chest and her finger nails scratched lightly at his arm and neck. He rubbed her back and she soon settled again.

Kim smirked at him. "They didn't want to _disturb _you two."

The Doctor flushed, dark red blossoming on his cheeks and creeping up his neck.

"And anyway," Kim continued, "this is the best both you and her have slept in ages. You'd best wake her up though, she needs to eat and take her medicine. I'll send the nurses in when you're both ready."

He nodded his assent and waited until Kim had left and some of the colour had drained from his cheeks before shaking Clara gently on the shoulder to wake her. She woke up gradually, blinking several times before opening her eyes fully, her slow and steady breaths speeding up as she regained consciousness.

"Morning, d- Clara." He whispered to her once her eyes were fully open.

"Morning." She said back, voice rough. He took the glass of water that came with her breakfast and held it against her lips. She shot him a questioning look but drank.

"So," she said, resting her chin on his chest, eyes and presumably mind still clouded over with sleep- she would have mentioned their position if she wasn't- "plans for today?"

"Hmm. Let me think," the Doctor mused, tapping her back with his fingers, "No lab today. I have something else planned."

"You do?" She asked, evidently surprised by his answer to her question.

"Yes, I do. I think I've spent enough time in that stuffy old lab, don't you?"

"Agreed." She replied, cocking her head at him, a playful smile on her lips. "So where are we going?"

"It won't be a surprise if I tell you," he warned her. She pouted. "But I'll give you a clue," he conceded, "it involves getting you a wheelchair, and plants."

"Plants?" Clara frowned, her gaze landing on the bouquet of flowers next to them.

"Not those plants," the Doctor told her. He gently scooped her up and lifted her off him, sitting her up and rearranging her cushions behind her. "The quicker you get ready, the sooner we can go."

He reluctantly slid out of the bed, crossing to the armchair to collect his clothes. Paper rustled behind him as Clara pawed through her medicine.

"Doctor," she questioned, "what's this?"

He turned around, clothes hanging off his left arm, and squinted at the packet Clara offered to him, trying to make sense of the label. "That's the solution we were making in the lab-just drop it in your water, it should dissolve." He instructed her.

Clara frowned. "Does this mean...?" She left the question hanging in the air, unspoken, yet the Doctor knew what she meant. He nodded once and she sighed resignedly.

"Well then." She said, dropping the recommended dose in and watching it dissolve, fizzing. Her expression unreadable. The Doctor turned away and headed to the bathroom next to her room. "Going for a shower-I'll be right back."

Clara waited patiently as her nurses fussed over her. She tried to do most of the tasks-like eating and dressing- by herself, but there were certain, everyday things like bathing and even _moving _that eluded her, and probably always would. So she endured the nattering and attention as she was moved into a wheelchair, taken into the en suite bathroom, bathed, dressed and put through her morning exercises that kept the muscles in her legs in good shape. By the time she was finished the Doctor had returned from his own shower, hair dripping and barefoot, dressed in a clean suit fresh from the TARDIS wardrobe. She blushed when she saw him, remembering last night's events and the position that they had woken up in just that morning, but he treated her like he usually would, beaming at her happily while tousling his hair dry with a hand towel.

"You ready yet?" He asked her. He finished drying his hair and carelessly threw the towel over his shoulder. Behind him a doctor rolled his eyes and stooped to pick it up good naturedly.

"'Course. Are you?" Clara said cheekily. He raised an eyebrow, hurriedly pulling on his shoes, falling over himself in his haste to get them on.

"I was born ready," he replied, swiftly tying his laces and giving her a twirl, "see?"

Clara didn't bother to roll her eyes. "You gonna tell me where we're going?" She asked. He wagged a finger.

"Not until we get there. Which reminds me, I have something for you."

"You do?" Clara craned her neck as he sped out of her room, trying to ignore the momentary panic she always felt at being separated from him. Soon enough, however, he sped back in, pushing a bright red wheelchair in front of him. It was padded, tailored to her height and various needs. There were even cup holders in the arms, Clara realised with a laugh. She nodded her approval. "Looks better than this monster." She told him, tapping the arms of the current chair she was sitting in. It was the standard, grey, all purpose wheelchair that was neither cheerful nor comfortable, and still stank of smoke from the last person to have used it. The Doctor wasted no time in bounding over to her and scooping her up, depositing her gently in her new chair that immediately adjusted to her body shape. She let out a small groan as the padding soothed her aching muscles.

"Thank you." Clara tilted back her head and offered him a smile. He grinned back.

"Oh! I almost forgot," he exclaimed, rummaging in his pockets, "I got you these." He produced a pair of fabric finger less gloves and slipped them onto her hands. "So you can wheel yourself along without getting friction burn," he explained,"I know how stubborn you can get, not letting anyone push you."

She smiled up at him sheepishly. "Thanks."

The Doctor grinned down at her. "Do you want me to push?" He asked, teasing. He reached for the handles and laughed when she slapped his hands away.

"I can manage," she told him, pressing her gloved palms against the wheels and giving them a push. She moved slowly at first, tentatively, but gained confidence and speed the more she moved around. When she was ready Clara manoeuvered herself over to the door, glancing back at the Doctor who was standing with his back against the wall, studying her. She pretended not to notice and pointed at the door with a thumb. "Are we going or what?"

He pushed himself away from the wall and got the door for her, propping it open as she wheeled herself out and replied with a smirk, "We're going always."

Clara rolled her eyes, smiling. "Didn't I tell you that isn't actually a sentence?"

He chuckled and followed her out of the door and down the corridor, alert for any type of danger, walking close to the back of her chair protectively. "Shut up."


	21. Chapter 21- The Gardens

"Where are we?" Clara asked, voice laced with wonder. Her hands fell limp at her wheels as she gazed at the plants and life that surrounded them. The Doctor pushed her along, going slowly so she had enough time to take in her surroundings and marvel at it all.

"Hospital gardens," he replied, voice hushed, "where patients and their families come to unwind, relax- enjoy themselves. It's a place for enjoyment, and laughter. It's also a sort of research facility-scientists and doctors spend time here using the plants to develop new cures and to study wildlife in all its forms, from the ordinary to the extraordinary." To illustrate his point he stopped pushing her, reaching a hand into the dense bush to smear a vibrant flower's sweet syrup on his palm. He held it in the air, in front of Clara, and he watched her eyes widen with awe as a lilac dragonfly landed on him and started to suck it up.

"The Aswariam Dragonfly," he whispered, "one of the last of it's kind."

The Doctor leant around Clara to point out it's distinctive characteristics, then guided her hand laying the tip of her index finger on it's back. She smiled at it with awe and stroked it lightly, the large bug vibrating under her touch. The dragonfly finished the syrup and flexed it's wings before leaping off the Doctor's hand and spiraling up into the leafy canopy overhead. Clara started with surprise and he chuckled as he released the brake on her chair and pushed her further in the gardens, explaining the composition of the soil and the different species of bugs and plants that lived there. Every so often he would steal a look down at her, smiling with satisfaction when he saw her to be utterly absorbed in the nature surrounding them, forgetting that she was disabled and dying. Because that's what he was here to do, the Doctor decided; keep her as content as possible in the few weeks that she had left. It was the least he could do.  
>Soon Clara became too tired for them to continue their tour around the gardens so the Doctor took her to the heart of the dome- the waterfall encircled by the benches he had sat on last night. He pushed her over to one of the cushioned benches and put the brakes on, moving to scoop her up and settle her in on the bench, but she shoved his hands away.<p>

"I don't need help with everything, Doctor." She said stubbornly, face set. He sighed and stepped back, far enough that she could be independant but close enough so that he could help her if anything went wrong. Clara gripped her armrests tightly as she shifted herself to the edge of her chair then, gritting her teeth, lifted herself up and swung herself on the bench, landing a little heavier than expected. She let out a light hiss as her spine jolted.

"Clara?" The Doctor hovered over her anxiously, eyes skimming over her body for any indicator that she was hurt. She waved him off.

"I'm fine. Just landed a bit harder than expected." Her tone was light and carefree, but frustrated tears welled in her eyes as she looked down at her useless body. The Doctor tugged his trousers and sat next to her, moving all his cushions on to her side so she would be more comfortable. There was a few minutes of companiable quiet as Clara settled in to her cushions and the Doctor watched the waterfall.

"Talk to me." she said after a while, her eyes closed.

"About what?" he replied softly.

"Anything."

The Doctor twiddled his thumbs in his lap. "I can't think of anything to say."

"Now that's a lie if I ever heard one." Clara shot him a sidelong look. "What's up?"

"How are you, Clara?"

"Paralysed."

"No, seriously. How are _you_ doing? Are you coping?"

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you."

The Doctor turned around to face her and cupped her chin in his palm, looking her in the eye. "No. You're not. So tell me, Clara, because I need to know- how are you coping?"

She avoided his gaze for a moment, dropping it down to his restless fingers, then brought it back up. There was a film of tears covering her eyes. "I...I...I honestly don't know."

The Doctor was quiet, reasoning that his silence would encourage her to speak more than his words could. He removed his hand from her chin and gently clasped her hands in his own, her small ones lost within his.

"I..." She began, "I'm getting used to it. It's..._odd_. I can still _feel _my legs, in my mind, I can imagine it _moving, _but when I try..." she trailed off, staring down at their clasped hands.

"Muscle memory," the Doctor commented after a while."Your body can remember what it felt like. To move."

Clara nodded. "When can I go home?" she asked, voice small. The Doctor sucked in a breath.

"Soon," he promised, "we just need to process some more of that medicine for you." He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand reassuringly. "We're nearly there." He watched Clara snuggle into her cushions, wiggling her upper body to move back, and the Doctor carefully wrapped an arm around her and helped her, tugging her back gently. She leaned on the pillows with a sigh.

"And where is 'there', Doctor?"

_The end of your life_, he thought morbidly, but said simply, "Your flat."

They sat there together for a while longer, the Doctor occaisonally pointing out different features of the garden that he thought she might find interesting. It was clear that she was losing interest, however- she was rapidly drifting off into sleep, head nodding on to her chest. Her trip out of her room had clearly tired her, sapped the strength that she had gained from her bed rest the last couple of days. Carefully so as not to wake her, the Doctor hooked one arm under her knees and the other just underneath her shoulder blades, picking her up and depositing her back in her wheelchair, flicking the brake pedal back up to neutral with his foot. Clara's continual need to sleep was begining to worry him a bit. She spent more time asleep than she did awake now most days. He supposed that she needed it, as the medicine and her body constantly tried to counter the effects of her illness, but it made the Doctor wonder whether Clara was a well as she made out to be. If her time was closer than either of them would like. Wordlessly, he wheeled her out of the gardens, pausing only to snip a bud from an odd flower with a red and white stem she had liked to add to the bouquet upstairs.


	22. Chapter 22- On Her Way

The Doctor crossed from the cupboard to the bed, neatly folding and piling Clara's clothes into the suitcase that lay open on the duvet. Clara herself was sat on the armchair, trying to teach herself the muscle exercises she had to do off a sheet Kim had given her. It had been four days since the gardens, and Clara had been deemed stable enough to go home. Not that the Doctor would have waited much longer to take her, anyway- they all knew that she was not going to get any better no matter how long she stayed in the hospital. It was time for her to go home, to face friends and family.

He folded the last of her clothes and zipped the suitcase up. "That everything?" He called over his shoulder. They had already had to repack her wash bag three times as Clara kept on forgetting what she had taken with her and where she had put it. He didn't fancy having to do that for the whole suitcase.

Clara paused mid stretch. "Should be," she said, unsure, "try the bathroom." She blinked in confusion and raised a hand to her temple. "Wait what?"

The Doctor sighed, pressing his palms into the rough fabric of the case. "Don't worry about it Clara." She was becoming increasingly forgetful- a side effect of the medication she was taking. Hopefully she would be less so once she was back living in her flat, but it was a slim hope at best.

Clara finished her exercises and sat back in her pillows. She couldn't be bothered to pull herself back up into a more comfortable position so instead she propped herself up on her elbows and watched the Doctor retrieve her wheelchair and unfold it, securing her medicines and a bottle of water in the mesh pockets stitched into the back.

"Ready?" the Doctor asked. He pushed her chair over to her, aligning it with her so it would be easier to get into. Clara nodded, and held herself up on her palms. The Doctor frowned but kept the chair steady as she shuffled into it.

"You should let me help you," he reproached her. She was getting weaker by the day but she was still refusing to let him help her with everyday tasks, too stubborn and proud to admit that she needed more assistance than she was currently getting. He didn't blame her- he would be the same if he was in her position- but it infuriated him to see her struggle with tasks that she would usually think nothing of.

"I don't need help," Clara said stubbornly but not unkindly, "I can manage."

The Doctor humphed, ready to argue, but was cut short by the door swinging open behind him and Kim walking in, clipboard in hand. She pulled up short when she took in the situation in front of her. "Is this a good time? Only I could, uh, come back later when it suits you-"

"No, no, you're fine," Clara told her, smiling brightly, cutting across the Doctor before he could speak. "We were just about to leave."

"Oh, good," said Kim, with a wary glance at the Doctor, "in that case I have some forms for you to sign then you can be on your way." She offered them to him and he took them before Clara could wheel herself close enough to take them. She glared up at him but said nothing, scrawling her signature along the dotted line when he offered the papers to her.

"Thanks," said Kim when the Doctor passed the papers back. "And...good luck." She swallowed, nodded to Clara and turned to leave, but paused at the door, tapping her fingers on the frame. She looked conflicted for a moment, debating something, then suddenly rushed to Clara in her chair and pulled her in for a long hug. "Take care, OK?" She whispered in her ear, keeping her voice deliberately low so the Doctor couldn't hear them talking. "Don't give up yet. If there's anyone that will find you a cure, it's the Doctor."

"I won't," Clara promised her, yet there was a sad edge to her smile and a dead look in her eye as she embraced the other woman. Kim pulled back and rubbed her forearms.

"I'll come and see you when you're better," she promised.

"How? You live centuries in the future from me." Clara said, puzzled. Kim grinned mischievously.

"There are other ways to travel through time than a TARDIS," Kim hinted. The Doctor snorted with disgust, folding his arms across his chest.

"Somehow, I don't think he likes your 'other ways'," Clara stage whispered. Kim rolled her eyes.

"He never does." She winked and stood up, both women chuckling at the affronted look on the Doctor's face.

"I'll see you around, mister." Kim said to him. She saluted, the Doctor returning it awkwardly.

"See you around, Whyatt."

Kim smiled, hugged Clara one last time, then left. Clara watched her go sadly. They had become firm friends in the time that she had been staying in the hospital, both having had the whirlwind experience of travelling with the Doctor, and she had genuinely enjoyed her company in the half hour periods that Kim could sneak off work for here and there, on the pretext of checking on Clara. She would miss her. She said as much to the Doctor as he extended the handle of her suitcase and he shot her a quick smile, promising to bring her over in the TARDIS as soon as she had settled back into her flat. Clara went along with it, but couldn't help but feel that she wouldn't have time to settle in. She knew that her illness was working faster than either of them could have predicted, and her days were numbered. Nevertheless she was still looking forward to going home and returning to normal- as normal as things were likely to get, anyway, what with the adjustments they'd have to make for her wheel chair and living with the Doctor. A prospect that sent a shiver down her spine, the words _Doctor _and _living with _not ones that she would usually expect to hear in your average sentence.

The suitcase now lifted off the bed and tilted on it's wheels on the floor, the Doctor grabbed the handle, mumbled something about having to secure it in the TARDIS so it wouldn't go flying mid-flight, and escaped the room. Clara got the feeling that he was just as nervous about the whole living together thing as she notion made her smile, and she entertained herself until he came back by imagining him in various situations that she considered completely ordinary but would mystify or bore him. Marking student's papers. Paying bills. Cooking- Clara knew for a fact that he never cooked himself except for special occasions, preferring to eat out at restaurants years into the future or centuries into the past.

Eventually the Doctor came bumbling back in and took control of her chair, ignoring her protests, and wheeled her out of her room and to the lift for the final time. Clara glared up at him.

"I can push myself along, thank you very much." She said haughtily. She plunged her hands into the wheelchair pockets, searching for her gloves. The Doctor flicked the brake pedal to on with his foot and clamped his hands around her wrists, stopping her.

"No, I really don't think you can." the Doctor argued back. "You need to give yourself a break every now and then."

"I can look after myself perfectly well." Clara replied to the mirror on her left. The Doctor muttered something and pulled her chair almost roughly to face him, crouching down so they were face to face.

"D-Clara I am trying to keep you safe. I am trying to look after you. I can't do that if you insist on over working yourself. _You are paralyzed from the waist down. You are sick. _I know you like your independence, I know you hate having to rely on other people but please, Clara, let me help you." He rested a hand on her cheek and she automatically leaned into it with a sigh. "I need you to let me take care of you."

Clara looked at him and for the first time noticed the fresh worry lines on his forehead and the heavy bags around his eyes.

_He's been worrying himself sick about me, _she realised, immediately feeling bad. She turned her face into his hand and gave it a light kiss with the corner of her mouth.

"Okay. I'm sorry." She apologised.

"Don't be," he replied, surprised that she had given in so easily. He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously but said nothing, willing to take the victory at face value for now.

The lift doors pinged open. The Doctor jumped up from the floor and released her brake, hands taking their now familiar place on the handle bars as he pushed her through reception to where he had parked the TARDIS behind a plant pot. A genuinely happy smile creeped across Clara's features when she saw the time machine. She always felt at peace when near the ship, the sight of it enough to calm and reassure her. As they approached her Clara felt a faint tickling at the back of her mind as she came back into range of the TARDIS telepathic circuits.

_Welcome home, Clara. _

The TARDIS key glowed softly and warmed her skin gently. The Doctor inserted his own into the lock and swiftly unlocked the doors, pushing one fully open so it stayed in place against the door frame, enabling him to take Clara in without having to keep one hand braced on the door to keep it open. As they went in Clara wondered how she was going to travel in the TARDIS- the ship had a tendency to spin and flip during flight, which would be fine if she still had use of both her legs. She was about to mention it to the Doctor when she realised where he was pushing her to and she grinned. He had taken out one of the pilot's chairs and replaced it with a kind of clamp and rail system- there were two clamps attached to the back rail that would hold on to the metal structure of the chair and rails screwed on to the control panels either side so she could hold on.

"When did you do this?" She asked him curiously. The Doctor had barely left her bedside in the past few days except to find food and change clothes. He knelt down next to her and began to clamp her in, tightening clamps and adjusting their positioning on the rails. He shrugged.

"You humans sleep a lot," he replied quietly, concentrating on getting her as secure as possible. Once he was finished he gave her char an experimental tug, nodding in satisfaction when it stayed put. He slid to her front and reached across her shoulder, unzipping a pouch and pulling out a seat belt, extending it until it connected to buckle by her hip.

"Is there anything this wheelchair _doesn't _have?" She chuckled. The Doctor let go of the belt, letting the adjuster snap back to her size.

"I like to be prepared for anything," he replied, tugging the belt lightly to check that it was secure. "Tell me if you feel like you're going to fall," he told her. Clara nodded.

"Thank you."

He got up from his knees and walked slowly over to the central console. She watched him go, hands tightening around her armrests in anticipation as he began to spin dials and pull levers. The prospect of flying in the TARDIS still sent butterflies through her gut even though they wouldn't be doing their usual dance around the console. The Doctor glanced over at her, hand hovering over the final lever, looking to her for confirmation. Clara grinned over at him and raised her eyebrows, tilting her head. He laughed and, with a flourish, slammed his hand down on the lever. The TARDIS de-materialised, the engines groaning and the metal floor shuddering beneath them. The wheelchair vibrated violently, jarring Clara, and the Doctor immediately slowed the time machine down when he saw her discomfort. He called over to her in concern, wondering whether they should stop halfway through and have a break, and she waved him off, laughing away his worry. He frowned but carried on, wincing whenever the TARDIS jolted his earlier enthusiasm wearing off.

The TARDIS landed with a small shudder. The Doctor immediately rushed over to her, unbuckling her seat belt and undoing the clamps. "Are you OK?" He asked her, hands running over her legs to check for any damage.

"I'm fine. Honestly, Doctor," she leaned down to place her hands over his, halting his inspection of her knees, "no harm done."

He gave her legs one last rub before taking hold of her chair and pushing her out, leaving her suitcase for now for him to come back and collect later once Clara was safely in her flat.

"Right then," he said, "let's get you home."


	23. Chapter 23- Clara's Flat

Once they were through the front door Clara breathed a sigh of relief, visibly relaxing as she took in the familiar surroundings of her home. It was only a small flat, and, she realised with a frown, some of the corridors were too narrow to get the wheelchair down, but it was reassuring to be back. She heard the Doctor drop her house keys into a dish on the sideboard, hearing him whistle softly as he saw her flat for a first time. Clara felt oddly nervous. Her flat wasn't the tidiest of places-although she did do her best- exercise books and test papers to be marked were stacked in corners often alongside potted plants and the odd bookcase. She had painted the walls instead of papering them- it added a more artistic feel to her flat, and allowed her to personalise her walls more than just picking out designs that looked a bit like what she wanted. They were painted autumnal colours; reds, golds, one wall in her living room a mix of all the colours swirled together. It lent the flat an earthy, natural feel.

The Doctor looked around the flat appreciatively and smiled. The way she had decorated it was very..._Clara-esque. _The furniture, comfy and vintage but not out-dated, little trinkets and relics from their travels (the ones that wouldn't raise many questions, anyway) showcased on shelves in every room and hallway side by side with more human ones from her past. It was only a tiny flat, but it suited her right down to the ground. _  
><em>

"Did you decorate it yourself?" he asked her curiously, wondering how on earth she would have been able to exact a transformation like this on the flat in the few short months that she had been living there. If he remembered rightly, the last time he had seen the place was when she first bought it, the property an empty shell ruined by it's last tenants.

"No," Clara laughed, "Danny helped me. Would've taken me years to clear the wreckage the last people left otherwise."

"_Danny_?" The Doctor asked, fingers tapping against her wheelchair handles as he squeezed it down the hallway to her living room. The hallway wasn't narrow, far from it, but it hadn't been built for the wide wheelchair that he had given Clara, and it made for a tight fight. A pit of jealousy began to brew in his stomach as he thought of this _man _and his Clara decorating her flat together. Alone.

"A friend from work. He volunteered to help, actually." _Did he now? _Thought the Doctor darkly. _I bet he jumped at the chance to 'help' Clara move in._

"I would've asked Macey to help but I needed someone strong to carry up the furniture..." She carried on, uninterestedly.

_I'm strong. I'm very strong. I may not look strong, but I am. Why didn't she ask me?_

His train of thought must have shown on his face because she looked sideways at him, smirking. "Are you jealous? You are, aren't you?"

"I most certainly am not," he responded firmly, trying to keep on a poker face as he maneuvered Clara round a tight corner and into her living room, parking the wheelchair next to her sofa. She pressed her lips together in amusement.

"Oh, I think you are-" Clara squealed. Before she could finish her sentence the Doctor had swiftly unbuckled her from her chair and swept her up into his arms, twirling her around the room. Clara giggled as she clung on to him by the lapels of his jacket, letting out another squeal when he let her drop in his arms, falling a few inches before he caught her and deposited her down on the sofa.

"That was so not fair," Clara gasped out between giggles, "just because you want me all to yourself..." she teased, trailing off when she saw the Doctor's face darken. Suddenly she felt breathless, and it wasn't from the spin. "Doctor...?" she hesitated, unsure what the meaning behind those dark eyes were, and in that moment the Doctor shook his head and jumped up from the sofa.

"I, er, I need to get the, er, suitcase," he mumbled quickly and bolted from the room as fast as his legs would take him.

Clara stared after him as he left, obviously in a hurry. "I'll just hang around here until you get back, yeah? It's not like I'm going anywhere." She huffed, shaking her head in exasperation. The Doctor grunted back, fishing her keys from the dish and quickly exiting the flat, locking the front door securely behind him.

The Doctor rested his head on the wall next to Clara's front door and let out a long breath that he hadn't realised he had been holding. _Control yourself, Doctor _he admonished himself, _Clara has every right to date human men. She's not yours to be jealous of. _But some part of him somewhere was, a part that made his blood boil and a fire roar in his gut at the very thought of her _with _someone other than him. He growled.

_Control have to control it. _It was becoming harder and harder for him to plug his emotions for her; where before a simple hug or touch would go a long way to cool his desire for her, now it was just not enough and only served to fuel his need. Instead of calming him, her touch now sent bolts of heat through his body, skin burning and remembering for minutes, even hours, after they had come into contact. His body was slowly beginning to betray itself to her as well, if her reaction had been anything to go by. Clara was experienced- this regeneration of him was not. _She always knew. _

He angrily pushed himself off the wall and practically flew down the council estate's concrete stairs five at a time, taking out his frustration on the solid steps by stomping heavily. He had to get it out of his system or he'd never be able to face her when he returned with the suitcase. If he was going to live with her then he would need to be able to reign himself in.

By the time he had collected the suitcase and was travelling back up to Clara's flat in the lift, he had regained most of his composure. When he re-entered the flat, dropping the keys back in the dish, he wheeled the suitcase through to her bedroom first then went to see her in the living room, giving himself some time to come up with a cover story for his sudden departure. He didn't need it, however- when he poked his head cautiously around the door Clara was lying on the sofa, phone at her ear, laughing and crying simultaneously to the person down the other end. She saw him standing in the doorway and smiled, mouthing _Dad_ to him by way of explanation. The Doctor nodded sympathetically and moved out of her room and across the hall to her kitchen, giving her some privacy. He filled the kettle and flicked it on, waiting for it to boil as he heard snippets of their conversation.

"Dad it's _not his fault._" He heard her sigh. "Dad...no...I agreed to go with him, it's as much my fault as it is his...look do we have to do this over the phone?"

The kettle pinged and the Doctor hooked two mugs from Clara's overhead kitchen cupboards, popping in teabags and filling each with an equal amount of the scalding hot liquid.

"Yes...No..." Her voice continued to float through the open door, "Come round yeah?...Any time's fine...Uhuh..."

The Doctor poured in the milk, flicked the teabags into the sink with a teaspoon and carried the mugs through to the living room, setting one down on the coaster in front of her and balancing his own on his knee when he sat next to her. She smiled gratefully, tears still rolling down her face.

"I'll see you then, Dad. Love you." She hung up the phone and let out a groan, picking up her tea and nursing it in her hands as it cooled. "He's going to kill you," Clara said, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I'll keep well out of his way," he promised her, "cross my hearts." He didn't want to cause any friction within Clara's family. She shook her head.

"No. You're my carer; he can't toss you out my house. You live here now. And besides, Aunt Linda would never let you get away, she'll want a look at you."

"She will?" asked the Doctor, confused. "I thought it was only your Dad coming over?"

"No, it's the whole lot," she grimaced, "Linda will want to inspect you for her boyband."

"Her _what_?"

Clara took one look at his worried expression and burst into fits of laughter. "Don't worry- you don't have to sing," she reassured him, "its a list of guys she thinks I should date." She picked up the phone again, tapping in another number. "You know what, I think I'll just have everyone come over on the same day. Get it over with."

"As long as you're sure you can handle it," the Doctor told her, swallowing a large mouthful of tea.

"I've done this before, Doctor. I know what happens next." She gave him a half smile and punched in the next set of numbers.

"I'll get you unpacked then." Even though she couldn't feel it the Doctor rubbed her knee. "If you need me, shout."

She nodded and squeezed the hand on her knee before releasing it and telling him on a laugh, "I hope you know where everything goes."

"I'll work it out."

The Doctor heard the tone as the phone was picked up on the other end and Clara turned her attention to the person she was phoning.

"Hi Danny. There's something I need to tell you..."

* * *

><p>The Doctor lifted the cardboard box with the picture of Shepherds Pie on it above his head and squinted at the instructions written on the bottom in the smallest print known to man. It was a microwavable meal-the Doctor had wanted to cook Clara something a little more substantial, but she had refused on the grounds that his cooking was terrible and, until she taught him some basic meals, she would rather just have ready meals from the nearest supermarket. He had protested, but she had shoved him up off the sofa in the general direction of the kitchen with strict instructions not to touch anything but the meal and the microwave, tone brooking no argument, and he had had no choice but to reluctantly agree.<p>

A decision he was now regretting as he stuck his tongue out slightly at the several sets of instructions in front of him, trying to decide what wattage Clara's microwave had and working out how that equated to the ready meal.

_Really, _he thought, _it would be a lot easier if she would just let me cook._

Tongue still hanging out in concentration he selected a recipe, tapping it twice with his index finger before setting the box back down on the kitchen counter and slitting it open, wiggling his fingers underneath the flaps to tear it. He slid the contents- sealed in a plastic container- onto a plate and put it in the microwave, carefully puncturing the clear film that covered the container so the pressure would release when it cooked and the whole thing wouldn't explode in his face. He opened the microwave and shoved the pie in, closing the door then frowning at the keypad to the left of the door.

_What in the world do all those buttons do?_

He sighed, giving up on the unnecessarily complicated contraptions humans used in their everyday lives and, with a sneaky glance over his shoulder to check that Clara wasn't watching from the other room, Soniced the microwave. After just one revolution of the dish the meal was cooked, and the Doctor removed it from the microwave triumphantly and scooped it out onto the plate. It resembled Shepherds Pie, which was good enough for him. Hopefully it would be good enough for her too. It was certainly better than his usual food.

Holding the plate balanced on his fingertips- some might argue dangerously aloft in the air- the Doctor carried her dinner across the hallway and into the living room, setting it in front of her on the coffee table with a flourish. Clara smiled up at him, dimple showing in her left cheek.

"I thought you'd never do it. You were in there an hour," she teased, "I thought you got lost."

"Oi! Microwaves are deceptively difficult to use," he grumbled, placing her cutlery next to her food, then retrieving the plastic table Kim had given them that operated on a hinge, allowing it to be swung in position over her legs. He moved her ready meal onto it then sat on the edge of her coffee table, anxiously waiting for her to taste his efforts. She loaded up her fork, eyes trained on him, and gingerly took a small bite, chewing it over several times more than necessary before swallowing. The Doctor held his breath as she considered.

"That's _good_," Clara breathed, "Actual, proper food, not the sludge they served us on that New Earth place."She tilted her head. "Did you cheat and use the Sonic?"

"No," the Doctor replied unconvincingly, then cracked under her piercing stare. "Alright! Yes, I used it. How'd you know?"

"I always know," she said, then relented. "The textures different. Less like Shephard's Pie, more like scrambled egg. Tastes amazing, though." She added, seeing his downcast expression.

He smiled over at her as she took another bite and, after a moment's hesitation she gave him one back, just enough to show a dimple. It was a far cry from the usual ecstatic beam she used to give him, but the Doctor knew that she was feeling more than a little down after phoning around to various friends and family to tell them what was going on. It had been hard for her, recounting the events that had happened up to this point. Of course, they had had to tweak certain details of their story- not even Clara's father knew about her time travelling-amending their time together so they travelled the world and Clara caught the disease while on tour in Africa, not because she had been kidnapped and injected with it by an Alien that fancied himself to be a god. Imagine explaining that one.

Once Clara had finished the Doctor took her plate and washed up quickly in the kitchen, aware of how late it was getting. It had taken Clara several hours to phone around and it was now late in the evening. He could also tell that she was exhausted- the emotional phone calls had been too much for her, just as he had feared. As soon as he finished up in the kitchen, the Doctor would hurry her along to bed.

He wiped the last of the plates and stacked them in the cupboard, flinging the tea towel down on the counter before hurrying back through to the living room to find Clara.

She wasn't there.

"Clara?" the Doctor called softly, walking forward into the room. He tried not to panic. She couldn't have gone far without her-

Her wheelchair was gone.

"Oh, _Daleks,_" he cursed, running full pelt from her room. Unless Fenric was involved Clara wouldn't have gone far. He went through a list of possible places in his head. The bathroom- no, he gave her tablets to deal with _all that stuff_. Kitchen-no, he had just come from there, and she wouldn't be in the living room either as that was where she had wheeled from. Which just left her bedroom.

He skidded to a halt outside the closed bedroom door and pounded on it frantically with a tightly curled fist.

"One moment," Clara called, voice muffled by the door, and the Doctor sagged with relief against it. She was safe.

A few minutes passed, in which the Doctor could hear some shuffling and the squeak of her wheelchair, then the door unlocked and was pulled open by a pajama-clad Clara. She smiled up at him, but it quickly melted off her face when she saw the thunderous glare he was giving her. "What?"

He didn't answer apart from to step inside the room and shut the door behind him, standing in front of it with his arms folded. Clara wheeled herself back from him.

"Doctor?"

"You should wait for me before you do things- you could have gotten hurt." He said in a measured, forcibly controlled tone.

Clara spread her arms wide. "I managed fine."

"This time, yes. What about next time, eh? What if something happens to you-you fall out of your wheelchair and can't get back up again? What will you do then? Lay on the ground and hope I'm around to pick you back up?" He snapped.

"What else am I supposed to do?" Clara shouted back, "spend the rest of my life waiting for other people?"

"Yes!"

"I'd rather die than live like that," she spat.

"Well at the rate you're going," the Doctor hissed back, "that won't be long now!" The moment he said it he immediately wanted to shove the offending words back into his mouth. He reached for her, mumbling an apology but she recoiled from him, flinching.

"Is that all that I am to you?" She whispered, eyes downcast, "A dead woman?"

He shook his head at her violently. "No! No, of course not Clara, I'm sorry..." He reached out for her again but she rolled back and did a three-point turn, slowly wheeling herself to her double bed.

"Just...help me get into bed, would you?"

He immediately moved to her side and scooped her up in his arms. He hesitated once she was in them, expecting her to wrap her arms around his neck like she usually would but she kept them folded in her lap, her face pointedly turned away from him. He tenderly tucked her in to the bed, laying her on her side with the view of the door. She would never sleep otherwise.

"Goodnight, Clara." He told her. There was no response. Stifling a yawn- he hadn't slept for close to a week, and it was beginning to tell- he flicked off the light switch. Behind him, Clara's sheets ruffled and he looked back over his shoulder at her curiously.

"You're tired," she stated from the shadows of the bed, her voice cold.

"I'll sleep on the sofa." He shrugged.

He heard her sigh. "You can't sleep on the sofa," she told him, voice still frosty but with undertones of...concern?

"Well I can't sleep on the TARDIS. I want to be near you if you need me in the night," he told her honestly.

There was another rustle as she considered, then said "You can sleep on the other side of the bed. Just stay away."

Her words pierced daggers in his hearts. _Just stay away._ Nevertheless he stripped off his shoes, socks, waistcoat, blazer and bow tie, sliding in under the covers, close enough so that she would know that he was there but far enough away that she wouldn't feel smothered. He rolled to face her and she lifted herself up on her palms to face the other way. He sighed. "Clara."

"What?"

"You know I didn't mean it. I worry about you, that's all."

"Uhuh."

He raised himself up on his elbows to look down at her. "Please, Clara. I don't want to spend the remainder of our time together like this. And I don't think you want to, either."

She ignored him. The Doctor rolled onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling. He watched Clara out of the corner of his eye and caught her taking a sideways glance at him. He smiled, struck by a sudden idea. He let his arm spread along the mattress, leaving enough space for a small person to curl up next to it.

He pretended to fall asleep. Now if he was right, and he usually was, then Clara was feeling isolated. Lonely. Grieving for the loss of her legs and the looming date of her death. Dreading the visits from her friends and family. Disheartened by her constant need to rely on him for the simplest of tasks- which was why she had been so brazen in her wheelchair that day. She wanted to be independant. She needed to prove to herself that she wasn't helpless.

She also craved company. Warm, friendly company that wasn't strained by her illness. Comfort.

Sure enough the Doctor heard the sheets rustle as she shuffled herself closer and closer to him, a small hand closing around his forearm to help move her along until her head was nestled in his shoulder, hands resting against his side. He felt her sigh and nuzzle him slightly then catch herself doing it and stop abruptly. Still feigning sleep he rolled over towards her, wrapping his other arm around her waist and pulling her closer until her head was cradled in the crook of his neck and her hands were flat against his chest. He felt her stiffen, then relax into it, sliding her hands down from his chest and around his waist. He kissed her forehead.

"I really am sorry, Clara," he mumbled into her hairline, voice laced with regret. There was a minute's silence, then a long sigh that brushed his ear and raised gooseflesh along his neck.

"I know. It just...cut deep." She snuggled further into him.

"I'm sorry-"

"Stop apologising."

"Sorry."

She swatted him gently on the arm. "Go to sleep."

He chuckled, tightening his hold on her, breaths deepening as their chests rose and fell alongside each other, wishing.

Wishing that the dawn would never come.


	24. Chapter 24- Last Resort

Morning dawned bright and crisp and cold. The Doctor stirred fitfully, arms clasping the sleeping girl tight in his arms. He didn't want to wake up.

Today was the beginning of the end of Clara's life expectancy.

Reluctantly the Doctor opened one eye, registering the movements of her chest against his, breathing a sigh of relief when he realised that she was in fact still alive and he wasn't clutching a dead body. He'd be lying if he said that the idea hadn't crossed his mind. Feeling a little calmer now he shifted as close to Clara as he could and frowned when he felt her tank top rubbing against his chest. Looking down he shifted back in her arms as he considered his bare chest, wondering how it had gotten into that state of nudity, then remembered that he had woken up in the middle of the night and taken it off, as between her body heat and the unusually hot night air the bed had become stiflingly hot to lay in, and he had decided that he would much rather lay in bed with no shirt on than slide out of her arms and sleep on 'his' side of the bed. Which was fine at the time, but now that he was fully conscious and able to feel every touch of her skin on his, he began to wonder whether it had been such a good idea after all.

_Human. You're Time Lord. Human. Time Lord. It would never work. _But his protests sounded progressively weaker every time he said them, his arguments of why he really should not be sharing a bed with her or even having thoughts about her quickly evapourating with every sleepy nudge and touch she gave him.

To distract himself from her a little the Doctor leaned up on his elbow, dislodging Clara slightly, and squinted at her digital alarm clock on her desk on her side of the bed, facing the windows. She mumbled beside him, subconsciously cosying into him again once he had read the display and had settled back into the bed.

Ten past seven in the morning. It was time for the Doctor to go to the bathroom and retrieve her medicines from the cupboard he had stored them in yesterday afternoon; to measure out tablets and unfold her wheelchair before bringing her breakfast in bed. He gently unclasped her hands and sat up, bringing his knees to his chest as he brought himself up to sit on top of the duvet. Clara stirred, arm reaching across the mattress for him, eyes snapping open when she couldn't find his warmth. She frowned sleepily forehead coming together and he smiled, arms wrapping around his knees as she threw up an arm over her eyes against the glare coming through the gap in the curtains. She yawned, upper body stretching like a cat.

"Good morning,"he said softly. She groaned, making him chuckle, and pressed her palms into the mattress behind her to drag herself up into a sitting position. She managed it eventually, but with a pained grimace and short gasps that had never accompanied the action before. He slipped his palm from his knee to the small of her back, concerned, rubbing the lax muscle there to reassure her.

"Are you alright?" he asked her once she had reached the headboard. She laughed bitterly and bit back a sob, wiping at her eyes angrily.

"I can't feel my waist," she muttered, head falling back on the wooden planks behind her.

The Doctor swore. Loudly, and colourfully. He thumped a fist on the pillow behind him, trying not to scream.

"It's spreading, isn't it," Clara said, voice resigned. He put his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Clara. I-I-I don't know-what to do, I don't-there's no- I don't understand-" He rubbed at his face, "Where-where has it spread to?"

"Just under my chest," she replied dully. She lifted an arm to pull herself over to him, but stopped abruptly, hand hanging limp in mid-air. "Oh god," she whimpered," Doctor, my arm- it won't lift, it's going numb, Doctor. _Doctor!_" Her hand fell onto her thigh with a slap, and as he horrifiedly watched the rest of her body began to tense and relax as the muscles and nerves were attacked, each cell being burnt out of her body.

His blood ran cold. This was it.

The Doctor jumped out of the bed at her cry, sprinting to the bathroom to gather up as much of her medicine as he could, tossing boxes over his shoulder as he tried to locate the right one. Once he had the rest fell to the ground with a clatter, fingers flumbling with the box lid as he desperately tore it open and spilled the contents into his palm.

A single syringe, with an inch of amber liquid sloshing around in it as he ran.

It was the Tine Lords' final resort- when somebody was so ill that conventional cures would not cure them, once their sicknesses had progressed to the final stage- this was the final drug they could administer. It would either stop Clara's paralysis in it's tracks, or kill her, burn her from the inside out.

But if she went, she wouldn't be going alone.

The Doctor burst back through the bedroom door, hearts bursting with pain as he saw her motionless on the bed, shoulders occasionally twitching- the only sign that she was still alive. Her chest no longer moved. He dived into her mind at the same time that he leaped on the bed with her, straddling her for leverage as he melded his mind with hers. He felt her trying to shove him out her mind, mentally shouting at him about how he couldn't, it was wrong, he needed to live, but he embraced her in her mind, giving her the mental equivalent of a kiss, and as she responded, melting into it but still fighting him weakly, he gave the syringe plunger a test push then stabbed it into her leg.

And as he wrapped his arms around her torso, pulling her limp body to him to press their foreheads together one last time, he felt her heart flutter feebly and the burning begin.


	25. Chapter 25- In The Silence

The two bodies lay on the bed, motionless. Their limbs were intertwined with one another's, foreheads touching, skin dappled gold by the bright sunlight pouring through small gaps in the curtains. Dust motes drifted in the shafts of gold and bird song filled the air, one of many chorus' that would be sung throughout the coming day.

All was still.

All was silent.

Then a limb twitched. An arm, curved and shaped, spasmed against the body laying on top of it.

The room fell silent once more.

Then, not a minute too soon, the other arm jerked and all of a sudden there was a throaty cough and a wheeze as the body rebooted, blood beginning to pump in veins that had been sluggish just a few moments before. Where the corpse had been but a moment ago there now lay a woman, sucking air into her lungs roughly, hands coming out to roll the remaining body off hers. She lay there for a few more minutes then sat up, raising her arms above her head, rolling her shoulders laughing joyfully and turning to tell the man beside her something. Her face dropped when she saw him, sprawled and pale on the sheets, and she dragged herself over to him and shook him by the shoulder.

"Doctor?" Her voice was unnaturally high, for her, voice box still a little rusty from her near brush with death. She didn't seem to notice, however, shaking her companion roughly by the shoulder growing increasingly desperate as time ticked on and he remained unmoving. "_Doctor._" She rested an ear to his chest, expecting to hear the steady thumpthump thumpthump of his hearts beating in unison.

Nothing.

Clara began to panic, hurriedly administering CPR on him, but which heart do you pump when the patient has two? Running out of time she picked one, reasoning that one heart was better than none, laced her palms together and pumped with all she had, counting the beats out loud.

"One, two, three, four," she chanted, eyes fixed on his face for any sign from him, anything at all, that he was still in there.

"One, two, three, four. One, two, three-"

The Doctor took a long heaving breath that rattled through his lungs. He sat bolt upright dislodging her from his lap and nearly sending Clara flying from the bed. As it was she fell back on her elbows, heart lifting with relief at seeing him alive. Body only working at half capacity his eyes met hers, wild and red-rimmed. Some part of him not concerned with his failing body noted that she was alive and filed the information away for later, but as it was he just grabbed her waist, pulling her back to him as his other hand pounded on his chest to keep his one heart beating.

"Only...one heart," he gasped to her, "Bad...very bad. Need...other one..._now._"

Nodding, Clara-only semi recovered herself- raced through the various options in her head, trying to find one that would help them out of the present situation. She couldn't do CPR, and it was near impossible to press on his heart when he was so determined to stay upright. Running out of options, she did the first thing that popped into her head and punched him in the chest, similar to how they did it once on the opening credits to _Holby City._

To her surprise it worked, and the Doctor's back let out an unpleasant _crack _as everything fell back into place.

Exhausted, the two fell back into the pillows.

Silence fell over the flat once more as both caught their breaths, rapidly beating hearts slowing down to their usual rate and gasps quieting to deep breaths. The Doctor recovered faster than Clara, his superior biology winning out, and he rolled to face her, grinning with giddy relief that they had both made it.

Clara glared at him hostilely through a curtain of hair and the ecstatic grin faded off his face faster than melted butter.

"What the _hell _just happened?" She demanded, hissing through gritted teeth as her body throbbed and ached, organ systems building back up to their full working capacity. She narrowed her eyes at the Doctor, trying to remember what exactly had occurred in the seconds leading up to her 'death'. Her mind was all a jumble, her brain only just beginning to process the world again. The Doctor sat up, leaping off the bed with a laugh that she did not share. Typical. He almost dies and five minutes later he's up and bouncing.

"I _cured you_!" He shouted with happiness, brandishing his arms at her joyfully, "go on, Clara; move your legs."

Clara frowned, brain sending the message through her nerves to the limbs, but nothing happened. Her legs were as limp and useless as ever. "Nope. Definitely not cured."

"What do you mean, not cured?" He approached the bed slowly, as if she were some alien that might turn on him at any moment. "That's Hexogen Six. A last resort cure for any , I say any illness- it doesn't work on colds or flu, mainly because they have a minuscule effect on the general health of a Time Lord. The drug provides a specially developed antibody that can deal with most any disease, but it's only fully compatible with Time Lords. Which meant that it was fifty- fifty whether it would kill you ar cure you- which was why I was reluctant to use it earlier- but hey! Look at you, alive and talking, all limbs still attached. What more could you ask for?"

"Doctor. I'm. Still. Paralysed." Clara snapped, patience wearing thin under stress. He shook his head, fishing the sonic from his jacket that lay discarded on the floor, clambering back up onto the bed beside her in order to scan her better.

"Impossible. When Hexogen Six gets into your system..." He ran the sonic over her legs, voice trailing off when the sonic beeped then flashed a warning red. "Ah," he swallowed, "well."

"Well what?"

"To be fair, it did reverse the paralysis back to it's beginning stages," the Doctor started.

"I feel like there's a 'but'," said Clara somewhat apprehensively.

"But tocompensateyourillnesshasacceleratedandisspreadingupyourspinetoyourbrainjustwthoutanysymptonsasofyet," he spurted in one long breath.

"English, please."

The Doctor exhaled, clasping her hands in his and bringing them up to his forehead to lean into as he replied in a small voice, "Hexogen Six tried to burn up the infected cells, but they managed to develop a resistance quick enough to stop it, then mutate so they now have a defense against it. My guess is that Fenric included an advanced strain in the injection he gave you, to boost the illness when I tried to cure it. Hex Six gave it the final pieces...ones it wouldn't have had unless..." his gaze rose to the Gallifreyan tattoo permanently etched into Clara's skin. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a piece of the puzzle clicked into place and he coaxed it to the forefront of his mind, eyes widening in horror when he worked out what it meant.

"Doctor," Clara squeezed his hand, trying to encourage him to look at her but his stare remained on her elbow, "tell me. Tell me what's wrong."

"I can't," his eyes were welling up with tears, "It- It's visual, a mental image I have stored-"

"Then show me," Clara interrupted. Finally, he looked at her, eyes welling with tears, and saw the resolve in her face as she saw the despair in his. He took comfort in that- she was still fighting- and he dropped their clasped hands and touched their foreheads together, tentatively initiating psychic contact with Clara fully conscious for the first time. It was much more intimate, much more open, and he waited on the threshold of her mind before entering, letting her get used to the alien feel of him before he submerged himself completely. When he did he had to resist the urge to dive into her wholly- an impulse that was an ever-present danger whenever a psychic being entered another's mind. A level of contact as deep as that was forbidden to be initiated with any living person who was not a Time Lord, or your wife. Back on Gallifrey Time Lords that had partnered for life- they didn't call each other husband or wife, they had far more meaningful words for each other that even the TARDIS couldn't translate into English- were immediately distinguishable from those that weren't. They lived as much in each other as they did without, knowing each others thoughts, feelings and even secrets far more intimately than they knew themselves. It made for a long-lasting relationship.

It was not something that he should do with any human, however, especially not Clara. As it was he could feel her shying away from him, trying to distract him from several dark corners of her mind, and he deliberately avoided them, turning his mental back on them as he withdrew from her mind a bit, fighting the allure that her mind had for him. She was nearly irresistible.

_Hello Doctor_, Clara thought.

_Hello Clara. _ He smiled briefly, letting her see- or rather feel- it's presence before he turned serious again. He pulled an image of her cells before that morning out of his memory and enlarged it so that she could see it too, then brought up another one from when he scanned her a few minutes ago.

_Look at them, Clara. What do you see?_

He felt her shrug. _They're the same. _

_No. Look again. _He adjusted the images. The number of infected cells in the first one decreased dramatically, dropping from several thousand to just ten or twenty. He felt understanding and sorrow, sorrow for him, for both of them, come over her in a wave as she figured out what she was showing him.

Clara hadn't been dying.

All that time that she had been in the hospital, paralysed, tired, the Doctor and Kim racing to find a cure for the illness that had been rapidly developing in her vitals- there had been no need. The paralysis, if he had left it alone, would have been temporary, and Clara would've been healed and walking again by the end of a week if her immune system had been left to deal with it.

But Fenric had been playing on the Doctor's nature to be a hero- put Clara in danger and he would feel the need to save her. And by doing that, by making the medicine and giving it to her to take every day,the Doctor had been feeding the illness, helping it to grow stronger, to keep the paralysis ticking over.

See, the Doctor had forgotten that while Clara was still unmistakably _Clara, _she was also one of Fenric's Wolves. And the leverage that that gave him over her, an unlimited leverage, would have made it easy for him to fiddle with her biology, to twist what was really going on inside of her. To tell the Doctor something when the opposite was the truth.

But that would have been OK. Despite the medicine prolonging it, the paralysis would have eventually been beaten. He saw that now.

But Fenric didn't leave it there. He was bitter, sick and twisted, heart blackened to the core after what the Doctor had done to him in Constantinople. He wanted to hurt to him, to show him how it felt to lose someone that completed your life, that made the broken part of you whole again.

He wanted to destroy the Doctor, utterly and irreparably. And he had done it, the Doctor thought pulling Clara close to his hearts and holding her, Fenric had gotten what he wanted.

Unwittingly, unknowingly, thinking he was saving her the Doctor had done the exact opposite. He had provided Fenric with the final element of her illness. He had given him the component he needed to kill her. On it's own, the illness would never have killed her. Add Hexogen Six, the chemicals would react, and it would kill her.

The Doctor had killed Clara.


	26. Chapter 26- Not You, Never You

The Doctor bowed his head, tears dripping down his nose and onto the blanket spread across the bed. Clara reached over to brush them away, only half understanding what was going on. She understood, what, just not how, but as she cupped his face in her hands the tears rolling over her knuckles with no signs of stopping she found that she didn't need to know the specifics. Her Doctor had killed her, yes, but it wasn't his fault, and she whispered it to him as she slid her arms around his waist to pull herself closer to him. He shook his head at her mournfully and pulled her up and on to his lap, burying his face in the crook of her neck with a sigh.

"I'm so sorry," he choked into her skin, rocking her back and forth in his arms, "If I had...If we..."

"Ssh," she cooed, settling her palms up around his neck, stroking the back of his head soothingly, "It's _not your fault, Doctor_. It's Fenric; it's been Fenric all along, never you. You would never do this to me, Doctor."

She heard a piteous whine come from him as he clutched her tighter, hands balling her vest top into fists of fabric as he kissed her just below her ear on her jaw then pressed their wet cheeks together. She knew that he didn't believe her and she pulled back from him in his lap, tilting his face to look her in the eye.

"Doctor, _I forgive you._" She breathed, eyes welling up with tears of her own at the state he was in, eyes red-rimmed, raw and grief stricken, and wasn't surprised when he pulled his face out of her hands and leant it in the alcove at her collar bone. His hands rounded her waist, fingers kneading the soft skin left exposed by her top riding up, and Clara had to bite her lip to keep from gripping his shoulders and sighing his name. As it was she just looped her arms around his neck and rested her chin atop his head, repeating over and over and over that she didn't hate him, it wasn't his fault, Fenric had manipulated him, it wasn't the Doctor that had killed her. She had been dead from the day Fenric kidnapped her, only a few weeks ago.

"But it was me, Clara, " he said, biting back a sob, "_I _put that needle in your skin. _I _pushed that medicine into you. _I killed you._"

"No, _you tried to save me_. There's a difference. You did what you thought was right- I'll always remember that. And you did save me, for a while," she told him, stroking the nape of his neck as his sniffles gradually subsided, "I was dying, Doctor, and you brought me back to life. Who else could have done that?"

He murmured something, something that sounded like _Fenric_ and _Wolf_, but she let it go for the moment, pursing her lips in thought at what it might mean. As she pondered, the Doctor eventually stopped crying and holding her so tightly, bringing his fingers to rest against her hips. Clara coughed lightly, and he moved them all the way up to her shoulder blades.

"Sorry," he apologised, lifting his head from her collar to give her a sheepish smile.

"Don't worry about it," she told him-she hadn't really minded the action, she barely felt it- then questioned, "what time is it?" Her back was to her desk, so she couldn't see the display without turning around which, with her legs, would take a lot more maneuvering that she cared to do.

"Eight O'clock," he told her, grimacing, "we have an hour and a half until your lot come round." He lifted her up off the bed and carried her through to the kitchen, sitting her on the counter. He stepped back but her legs slid out from under her and she nearly fell off the slippery surface, the Doctor only just managing to catch her and set her straight.

"Woah there," he said, holding her firmly by the shoulders to keep her on the counter.

"Thanks."

The Doctor reached up to the steel rail above their heads and selected a saucepan, settling it on the stove before placing a frying pan next to it. He leaned around Clara to reach the fridge, stacking a packet of bacon, a box of eggs, a tomato, some mushrooms and sausages on her lap before grabbing a tin of baked beans from the overhead cupboard just above her head.

"What are you doing?" She questioned, shuffling the ingredients into a much tidier pile on her lap. He ignited the gas, taking the packets of bacon and sausages from her and slapped two rashers of bacon and three fat sausages into one pan, emptying the can of beans into another.

"Making you breakfast," he replied, taking the vegetable chopping board from the rack next to the microwave. She laughed a little, watching his hands deftly twist the stalks from the small mushrooms and quickly chop them, hooking another pan from the rack and lighting another stove to cook them on. Clara gripped the counter beneath her to keep herself from falling off and tilted her head as she watched him add tomatoes in with the mushrooms.

"You're cooking me a full English?" She asked with a worried bob of her head. "The last time you tried you set yourself on fire."

The Doctor took a fish slice to the bacon to flip the slices over and did the same for the sausages. Clara was too amused by his efforts to correct his choice of utensil.

"What are you going to eat?" She asked him as he set a plate down on the other side of the oven and squirted a small pool of tomato sauce neatly on the side of it. He shrugged.

"I'm not hungry," he told her, avoiding eye contact as he searched her cupboards for the salt, which was right in front of him.

"You should eat," she argued, "you didn't have any dinner last night, you must be starving."

"Not really," he shrugged again, still feigning his search for the salt, and Clara sighed and reached over, taking the salt from right under his nose. He tried to take it from her but she withheld it, holding it backwards over her shoulder. He could have snatched it off her if he tried, but she knew that he wouldn't. Instead he turned back to the bacon, hurriedly turning off the stove when he realised that it was close to burning, and slid the rashers and the sausages onto her plate. "I don't feel hungry anymore."

Clara folded her arms across her chest, temporarily forgetting about her legs. She flailed, falling off the counter. The Doctor dropped what he was holding and grabbed her by the knees, steadying her.

"Careful," he said, leaving one hand on her left knee as he picked up the wooden spoon to stir the beans before tipping them out on the plate next to the bacon.

"You need to eat, Doctor," Clara insisted, refolding her arms now that he had her firmly by the leg. "You can't not eat because I'm ill." She watched him as he turned everything off the heat and piled it all onto her plate. It was too much for one person, which could work to her advantage. The Doctor sighed, picking up her breakfast with one hand and winding the other about her waist.

"Put your arms around my neck and I can carry you as well," he told her as she rummaged in the draw underneath her for cutlery. She raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure you're _that_ strong?" She asked skeptically. She placed them around his neck anyway, and he hefted her higher up as he carried both her and her breakfast into her living/ dining room. He set the plate down on a placemat first then settled her into the chair. Clara caught his wrist as he turned away to get her medicine and forced him into the chair next to her, slapping the extra knife and fork she had taken into his palm. He made a noise of protest and tried to escape but she threw an arm across his chest, pinning him to his seat.

"_Eat_. I don't care if you're hungry or not, you need to get something down you. And besides," she pushed her plate towards him, "there's too much here for just one person."

He grumbled at her, but transferred his knife and fork into the correct hands and started on a slice of bacon. Clara smiled triumphantly and cut up a sausage.

They ate their breakfast in silence, the only sounds the constant chewing and swallowing as they worked their way through the ridiculously big portion the Doctor had made for her. It tasted better than what he usually made which was probably because Clara had been there with him, watching for if anything went wrong. Eventually she crossed her cutlery and pushed the plate over to him, stuffed. She had eaten barely half of the food but she felt so full she doubted she would need to eat for at least a week.

"So what's the plan?" Asked the Doctor with a mouth full of fried egg. She shrugged.

"Dad, Linda and Gran are coming over in about an hour, I think, although he usually turns about fifteen minutes early," she mused, head tilted, "then after lunch it's Danny-"

The Doctor nearly choked on his egg, swallowing heavily. Clara's eyes widened with concern but he waved his fork at her, motioning her to carry on.

"Danny, Macey and Lauren," she ticked them off on her fingers, "that's it."

"Not very many," the Doctor observed polishing off the last sausage (for a man who claimed he wasn't hungry, he had eaten quite a lot) "are you sure that's everyone?"

"Should be."

"No cousins?" The Doctor suggested, "Or close school friends?"

"Nope. Linda's had a string of boyfriends. No children. I have a small family," she shrugged again, "and I never really had many friends at school. Home life set me apart, I guess. I only ever had time for books, what with Mum and all."

He nodded sympathetically and finished eating, sitting back in his chair with his hands over his stomach.

"Hungry much?" she teased. He jabbed a finger at her playfully.

"Oi. I only did because you kept going on at me," he huffed, taking the plate back though to the kitchen and retrieving her wheelchair from her bedroom. When Clara saw it she pouted.

"I can't carry you all the time," he told her firmly, "my arms'll fall off," he joked.

"Yes you can," she asserted, holding out her arms to him to pick her up, adopting her best puppy expression.

"Oh, all right then," he grumbled, pretending to look fed up. Clara smirked up at him as he picked her up, holding her to him tightly as he walked down the hall to her bedroom. She rested her head on his shoulder and a hand on his chest as they went, feeling his heartbeat _thrum _against her palm.

The Doctor sat Clara up leaning on her pillows and flung open her wardrobe doors with both hands, setting the clothes she wanted on the duvet next to her as she picked them out, blushing when he fetched her underwear from the chest of drawers across the room. He left her medicine and a glass of water with her as well, before leaving the room to let her get on with it in private with strict instructions to call for him if anything went wrong.

Half an hour later, when the Doctor had successfully settled a fully washed and dressed Clara into her accustomed armchair in front of the telly, the doorbell rang.


	27. Chapter 27- Visitors Part One

The Doctor walked up to the door nervously, rolling his shoulders and neck to try and get rid of the tenseness in his muscles. He was sick with worry, worry about Clara and how she was going to cope, about her Dad and how he was going to react when the man he outright hated opened the door. The last time the Doctor had seen him, Dave Oswald had made it very clear what he would door if he was ever faced with the Time Lord again. That was scary enough; but couple this with how Clara's health had worsened and had lost the use of her legs...

Be polite, the Doctor reasoned with himself, be civil. Make tea. That usually helps. Plastering a smile on his face, he nodded reassuringly to Clara in the next room, who gave him a nervous thumbs up from her chair, before turning the key in the lock and apprehensively opened the door. It jammed a bit as it opened, his nerves getting the better of him.

The Doctor had just enough time to register the livid face of Dave Oswald before a fist crashed into his face. He reeled back, staggering into one of Clara's bookcases, hand coming up to cup his nose as blood gushed down his features.

"Dad, no!" Clara shouted, powerless in her chair. She reached out for the Doctor, gasping when she saw scarlet on his cheek. Her gran stared daggers at her Father and marched past him into the room, holding out a hand to help the Doctor out of the bookcase. He smiled at her gratefully as she produced a stark white hankerchief and began to dab at his nose.

Behind her, Linda was doing her best to restrain Dave, pinning his arms to his sides. Clara's Father twisted in her grasp, face stained a blotchy red by his anger.

"I thought I told you to stay away from her!" He screamed, spit flying everywhere, "I warned you what would happen!" He worked one arm loose from Linda's grasp and pointed a finger accusingly at the Doctor. "You make me sick. Get out, just get out!" He rounded on Clara. "And you! I wanted you away from him to keep you safe! Look what he's done to you!"

The Doctor ignored him. His face was stone as Clara's gran repeatedly swabbed his nose, waiting for the bleeding to stop. He gently pushed her aside as Dave finished his rant and thanked her, clapping a hand to her shoulder before tugging his tweed so it settled more comfortably on his shoulders. He squared up to the older man, hands fisted at his sides. There was something dark brewing behind his eyes.

Dave stood still under the Doctor's glare, not expecting the alien to square up to him. He was giving Clara's father the burning gaze that he usually reserved for the likes of the Daleks and Cybermen, age-old foes that he hated. Dave, understandably, quailed beneath the sheer force of it. In the distance, they could both hear Clara's gran comforting her as she hiccuped and cried.

If anything, the sound of his companion's sobs strengthened the Doctor's already terrifying glare. Even Linda looked intimidated.

"Do whatever you want to me. Shout, scream, curse- I really don't care. I've faced much worse than you." The Doctor took a step forward, his voice dangerously calm, "but if you ever, ever, treat Clara like this again..." He left the threat unspoken, shaking his head at Dave, "you're her father, and I respect that, I do. You have a right to have a say in her life, and what she does with it. But don't you dare treat her like that under her own roof again. In case you haven't noticed, she is dying. The last thing your daughter needs is you taking out your grief on me. Is that clear?"

Dave pulled his arms out from Linda's. "Who do you think you are?" he started to say, but never got to finish as Linda had grabbed him by the collar and unceremoniously shoved him out the front door, shutting it behind him. The Doctor looked to her in surprise.

"Sorry about Dave," she apologised, "he's not usually like this. He's protective of Clara, and it sometimes brings out the worst in him." She gestured over her shoulder, "Truth is, I don't like you much either. I better go see how he is."

The Doctor nodded morosely and watched her leave. So much for making a good impression.

When Linda had closed the door behind her the Doctor found his way to the living room. He peeked around the door frame, unsure if Clara would want to see him or not following the discord that he had sown in her family, but the moment she saw him she smiled through her tears and lifted her head from her gran's shoulder, beckoning for him to come forward. He obliged, crouching by the arm of her chair.

"Are you okay?" Clara asked him shakily. She touched his bruised nose softly with the pads of her fingers, wincing when they came away with a light film of blood. "We should call an ambulance," she told him seriously. He laughed and shook his head.

"You should! Look at you, you're bleeding all over my new carpet." She insisted.

"It's only my nose. I'll put some ice on it," he promised. Clara grumbled but relented, making him fetch both ice packs from the fridge as apparently one wasn't enough for an injury as bad as his, no matter how he played it down. Her gran wrapped both packs in a towel from Clara's airing cupboard for him. He applied it to the bridge of his nose gratefully, Clara's gran directing him.

"No; don't hold it there, you're not covering all of it," Gran swatted the Doctor's hands away and shifted the package to the left, then the right, "Now don't look up, you'll drown yourself," she advised, tilting his head down for him. Clara was smiling at them, but her glance kept moving to the silhouettes of her Dad and Linda arguing outside. The Doctor took her hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of it.

"He'll come around, Clara," he said quietly. Clara's Gran huffed with annoyance at her son.

"He'd better or he'll have me to answer to," she vowed.

Linda knocked at the door. The Doctor squeezed Clara's hand and stood up.

"I'll go let them back in," he said, flashing her a quick smile before standing up and walking to the door. Her Gran followed a few steps behind.

"Hello," the Doctor said awkwardly when the door opened. Dave still looked livid, but most of the red had drained from his face. He held out his hand and the Doctor shook it.

"Look, son, I'm sorry about earlier. It won't happen again," he promised, "not while Clara..." He nodded his head towards her. The Doctor nodded back in agreement.

"I understand. You don't want me around her."

"If she hadn't gone with you, she would still be alive."

"She's dead? Your daughter is sitting on that sofa, waiting for you. She needs to see you." The Doctor stood aside. Dave brushed past him peacefully, ignoring him as he moved his attention to Clara on the sofa. The Doctor exhaled, shutting the door and locking it again with the keys in the dish on the sideboard.

The rest of the visit went fairly smoothly. Dave ignored the Doctor completely, but Clara's Gran and Linda did their best to include him in conversation. The Doctor did try at the beginning of the discussion to quietly slip away and make repairs on the TARDIS until her family wanted to leave (he had moved the time machine into a corner of her bedroom for easier access), but Clara had insisted that he sit on the sofa directly next to her. Which had made the arrangement that bit more awkward- him and Clara on one sofa, Dave, Linda and Gran on the other opposite.

The Doctor felt like he was being interrogated.

"So, Doctor," said Linda once the chatter had quietened down and all the important subjects had been discussed, "how did you you and Clara meet?"

The Doctor floundered for a moment. "Uhh..." he said, more than a little panicked. He looked at Clara who smiled and nodded reassuringly. They had never decided, really, what to tell relatives or how much to tell about what they got up to. This had never been a problem with his other companions- they hadn't cared if the whole world knew that they were travelling through time in a police box with an alien (except Amy and Rory, of course, but he didn't like to think of them). Clara was different to the others in that respect: she insisted that her home life and TARDIS-life were kept separate from one another.

Seeing that he clearly wasn't going to manage on his own Clara leant over and whispered in his ear, "Original. Change so you're a teacher." She traced a small 'p' in his leg, then a 'h', which the Doctor took to mean 'physics'. He could do that. He could fake being a physics teacher.

"I, uh, I actually turned up at the Maitlands dressed up as a monk," he started, remembering back to the day with a smile. Within seconds of hanging up on her he had piloted the TARDIS to Earth, using the landline number she had phoned from to pinpoint her location.

He hadn't regretted a day since.

"Knocked on my door like there was no tomorrow," Clara remarked, cradling her tea.

"Yes, well," the Doctor interjected, noticing the alarmed looks her Dad and Linda were sending their way, "I was starting at your school the next day and you had my..." He waved a hand, trying to remember what he would need for a first day and Clara may have, "textbooks. Needed to pick them up for lessons in the morning."

"Dressed as a monk?" Linda asked skeptically.

The Doctor floundered once again. Luckily Clara was there to save him.

"He runs a drama group for kids. He was going there after he picked up the books- he was playing Friar Tuck in Robin Hood." She giggled.

"Friar Tuck," he muttered to himself, irritated, "she could have thought of something a bit more...cool."

Clara's Gran paused between sips of tea- she could finish a cup in two minutes flat, no matter the temperature; Clara had timed her when she was younger- and said, somewhat adoringly, "How sweet. This ones husband material," she added on the side to Linda in an audible whisper, "let's skip the boyband."

"Looks gay to me," Linda said back disappointedly.

"The best ones always are," Clara's Gran replied gloomily. The Doctor raised a finger, affronted, but Clara pulled it down again, sides splitting with laughter.

"Let them have their fun," she told him inbetween giggles.

Dave sighed at his family and put his tea down, taking a reluctant interest in the conversation. "What do you teach then, Doctor?"

"Physics," he said brightly, ignoring Linda and Clara's Gran sniggering away.

"Definitely gay then."

"Oi! I am still in this room you know!" The Doctor exclaimed, "and for the record, I am not gay!"

"That's what they all say," shrugged Linda, "we should be pairing you up with George Michael instead."

"John Barrowman-"

"Alright!" The Doctor threw up his hands, "that's enough," he said firmly. The women dissolved into fits of giggles. Clara leaned into his shoulder, chortling into her tea.

"Shame," her Gran managed between hiccups, "They would have made such a good couple."

It was at that point that the Doctor excused himself under the pretense of making another round of tea. He doubted he could have lasted much longer in their company without making an utter fool of himself. Slipping up around Clara at this point, letting down the walls against his affection for her that he had meticulously created, would result in pain and inevitable heartbreak for both of them. He didn't want to remember her like that. When he looked back on their time together, two, three hundered years from now, he wanted to remember her with a smile on her face and a laugh on her lips. Just like she had been a few minutes ago.

Those walls were breaking down already, though, every look and touch she gave him blasting holes through the shield that he had built up around him since he started travelling. Since he started losing what he held most dear. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth it, all the travelling, but then he remembered all the people he had saved, all the civilisations and empires and ordinary people that carried on living because of him, and he would think yes, it was worth it. Even if the price was the people he loved.

Not Clara though. Never Clara.

The Universe doesn't do bargains, though. Not even for his-

"Doctor? You alright in there?" Clara's voice cut through his thoughts and his mind jerked back to the present. He stared down at the tray loaded with mugs in his arms, then up at the Oswald family, all of whom had their coats on (excluding Clara).

"Um, yeah," he offered the tray, "tea anyone?"

"Actually we were just leaving," said Dave, overriding his mother who had been reaching for a threw Dave a dirty look as the Doctor replaced the tray on the counter.

"Oh, of course. See you around, eh?" The Doctor wrung his hands awkwardly. Dave inclined his head at him curtly.

"Take care of her," he warned, "I'll be in touch."

The Doctor shook his hand then said much warmer goodbyes to Clara's Gran and Linda, both of whom hugged him and told him to call if Clara became too much for him to handle. "We're here for you," Clara's Gran promised him, and it took some of the weight off his shoulders knowing that Clara's family were there to support him as well as her.

"Ellie would have loved you," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. The Doctor lowered his head.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. Her Gran nodded and squeezed his arm.

"Don't let her go the same way," she said, then left him to stand by Dave, shrugging on her coat. He stared after her, thoughts buzzing through his brain. What had happened to Ellie? Clara had never explained it to him fully before, and the Doctor hadn't wanted to push a subject that she obviously didn't want to talk about. It must've been bad though, to have Clara's Gran make him promise to make sure that Clara wouldn't have to endure the same situation.

The Doctor picked Clara up as everyone was leaving, carrying her to the door so she could wave goodbye to her family as they got in the car and drove away. Once they were gone her hand fell limp on his chest, roaming until it found a spot in the centre from which she could feel both his hearts beating together.

"I'm so tired," she moped, head lolling onto his collarbone. The Doctor kicked the door shut with his foot and carried her back to her bedroom.

"Nap," he instructed her, "I'll wake you up when Danny-boy gets here."

"Don't call him that," she mumbled as he laid her on top of the covers. He sighed.

"Just sleep, Clara. I'll be right here when you awake." He sat on the chair next to her bed and waved at her, She sleepily waved back.

"You better be," she threatened, yawning.

"I always will be," he promised her, crossing his legs as he settled in the chair.

"Soppy git," Clara insulted him.

"You love it," he said cheekily.

"You wish," she answered, tugging a pillow over her head.

He chuckled, settling down to wait for her. He fiddled with his sonic for a while but quickly became bored, pacing her room until he selected a book from the numerous cases dotted around her flat.

East Of Eden, John Steinbeck.

Classic, he thought, returning to his chair. When he opened it there were notes scribbled up and down the margins in a rushed yet neat hand. A university assignment, he decided, reading Clara's conclusions about the characters, highlighted in bright green ink. He read them over for a while, sometimes laughing and at other times frowning at the conclusions she had drawn from the passages. One in particular caught his eye, the paragraph picked out in fresh pink highlighter instead of the vibrant green his eyes had adjusted to. There was no annotation, either, just a small, precise line leading from and a tiny TD marked in her familiar handwriting. Curious, he bent the book towards him and read;

He was born in fury and lived in lightening. He was a giant in joy and enthusiasms. He didn't discover the world and its people, he created them. When he read his father's books, he was the first. He lived in a world shining and fresh and uninspected as Eden on the sixth day. His mind plunged like a colt in happy pasture, and when later the world put up fences, he plunged against the wire, and when the final stockade surrounded him, he plunged right through it and out. And as he was capable of giant joy, so did he harbor huge sorrow.

The Doctor blinked back the tears in his eyes and looked at the compact scribble next to the TD.

TD- The Doctor.


	28. Chapter 28-Visitors Part Two

The Doctor hadn't known what he had expected Danny Pink to be like. Human? Yes. Male? Yes. Teacher-y? Definitely. He wanted Danny to be geeky, nervous- somebody who Clara would never look twice at, but would be doted on by. A nice tale of unrequited love that ensured that the Doctor always came first in Clara's affections. Selfish, he knew, but he just couldn't help it.

This idea was only enforced when Clara told him that Danny was a maths teacher- you almost never get good-looking maths teachers. They were almost always middle aged, female or boring. Another point to the Doctor.

So when he opened the door to Mr Pink, confident and with his chest puffed out, the reality of Clara's new Gentleman Friend froze him to the door mat in shock.

Danny Pink was young, if slightly older than Clara- the Doctor estimated his age at twenty nine, maybe edging into his thirties. He was dark skinned, the colour of oak, and sported a close shaven hair cut and a well trimmed black beard that accentuated his strong jaw line. His eyes were brown, so dark they were looked black. There were secrets in those eyes, but they still held a faint promise of kindness if you were fortunate enough to unlock it.

His body was no improvement to the Doctor either; he was broad, strong; he had sombre gravity to him. When he entered a room, he filled it, _commanded _it even. He was much more _manly _than the Doctor. Much more suited to Clara's needs in a partner. He was also a good few inches taller than the Doctor, which annoyed him immensely.

The only thing that the Doctor really liked about him was the colour of his jacket. TARDIS-blue. The rest of him just annoyed the Doctor to no end.

"Hello, I'm Danny. You must be the Doctor?" He smiled warmly, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I would shake your hand but..." He raised his hands pointedly. In one was a Tesco carrier bag holding a large box of chocolates and several huge hand-made cards and in the other was the biggest bouquet of flowers that the Doctor had ever seen. White Peonies- her favourite.

"Yep. That's me. Hello, _Danny," _he said, jealousy bubbling up in his chest, "would you like any help with those?"

Danny looked down at the items in his hands. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll manage," he politely declined the Doctor's offer, "didn't spend nine years in the army for nothing," he added cheerfully.

"Quite," replied the Doctor. They stood there awkwardly for a while, the Doctor unconsciously blocking the door so Danny couldn't get through. He considered how best to kidnap the man and, flowers and all, bundle him into the TARDIS and shove him in the nearest black hole. He probably wouldn't have much of a chance though. Clara would notice if her colleague went missing.

There was a squeal behind him, jogging him from his thoughts. He whipped around, frowning and leapt quickly out of the way as Clara came zooming down the narrow hallway at high speed calling Danny's name. When he saw her, Danny's smile widened considerably and his perfect white teeth (another thing the Doctor immediately disliked, those teeth were too perfect) flashed as Clara braked and skidded to a stop a few inches from his shins.

"Hello, Chocolate." Danny's eyes softened when he saw her. It was blindingly obvious that he loved her- it was written in every line of his face, they way he gazed at her adoringly in her chair as she chuckled at her nickname.

"Are those for me?" She asked him cheekily, tilting her head and grinning when he hid the flowers behind his back.

"No, actually- there's this lovely old lady that lives down my road, I thought she would appreciate them. Turns out she likes peonies as much as you do."

"I never knew you went for old ladies. Then again, you _are _a maths teacher," Clara deadpanned.

"Says the woman who reads Shakespeare for fun," he shot back, "what's your type, Charles Dickens?" He gave her the flowers all the same though. The bouquet was so big Clara was lost behind it. She smelled them appreciatively then passed them up to the Doctor, who grudgingly took them feeling sick to his stomach.

"Put them in a vase, would you?" She asked, barely looking at him as Danny shifted the carrier bag further up his arm and grabbed hold of her handlebars, spinning her chair as she shrieked with laughter.

"If I can find one big enough," he joked, heart swelling a touch when she turned her brilliant smile on him before she refocused it on Danny, who was teasing her about her taste in movies.

The Doctor left them to it, and went into the kitchen to locate a vase. He had to empty several cupboards until he found one big enough, pushed right to the back and coated in a layer of dust. He pulled it out and washed it with a bowl of soapy water and a cloth until it shone again. It was an old fashioned vase in the style of Art Deco, each triangular pane of glass a different colour. The Doctor carried it back through to the living room and placed it in the centre of the dining table. Under the pretext of arranging the peonies, he peered through the gaps between petals at Clara and Danny, who were both sitting on the sofa talking. Clara was clearly uncomfortable with her positioning; she kept on trying to move herself into a better angle but without a cushion she just slid down again, inch by inch. If Danny had noticed he wasn't showing it, his eyes rounder than most planets the Doctor had taken Clara to.

_Never mind him, _the Doctor told himself as the man stretched his arm along the back of the sofa towards Clara, _get her the cushion_.

The Doctor strode out from behind the flowers, making Danny jump out of his skin. Clara stayed still, unsurprised- he often turned up in her flat unexpected and after the first few scoldings she had given him didn't deter him she had learned to live with it. The Doctor took pride in the fact that he was as welcome in her home as she was in his TARDIS.

Clara looked up at him and smiled with something akin to relief as he tenderly tucked a cushion into the small of her back and took hold of her waist, helping her back to settle into the cushion. He shot a triumphant grin to Danny who glared stonily back.

_Hah, _thought the Doctor gloatingly, _bet she never lets you hold her waist. One- nil to the Doctor._

Pleased with himself, the Doctor plopped himself onto the sofa directly between the pair and draped his arms along the back of the sofa so Clara's head was resting on one and Danny was shrinking away from the other. "What's in the carrier bag?" He asked brightly, electing to ignore the daggers Danny-boy was shooting at him and Clara's exasperated sigh.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" She questioned, annoyed.

He shrugged. "Bored, concerned, take your pick. Thought I'd come along and see how you both were."

"We're fine," Clara said flatly, drumming her fingers on her leg. It was Danny's turn to look smug.

"I thought so. Always good to double check. What's in the bag?" he asked again, persistent. If he left now, Danny might take it to be a weakness. Clara folded her arms.

"Chocolates and cards from students. I'll show you later," she promised, flicking her hair deliberately in his face with enough force to sting as she turned to look the other way, pointing at the bag. The Doctor winced as approximately one hundred thousand hairs whipped his skin at high speed. Danny laughed, and the Doctor wondered whether it was rude to deck guests.

"You can show me now, if you like," he offered, "I'm sure Danny won't mind, will you?" He directed the last part to the man sitting next to him, who looked to be a mixture of irritated and midly amused.

"Doctor..." Clara warned, voice dropping an octave or two. Both mens' eyes darkened at the low register her voice had just reached and the Doctor sidled closer to her on the sofa protectively.

"Yes...?" He answered, voice plummeting even lower than her's had and it was Clara's turn to shiver as his eyes bored into her own. The Doctor noticed the subtle change in her facial expression and hedged his bets, moving closer again and curling his arm around her shoulders.

Clara closed her eyes, clearly composing herself, then said in a carefully controlled voice, "isn't there something you should be doing right now?"

"Like what?" He kept his voice low, increasingly aware of the effect it was having on her.

Clara squirmed and bit her lip. Now it was the Doctor's turn to be distracted; the sliver of pink revealed when her teeth worried her lip almost too much for him to bear. It made him want to kiss her so badly it felt as though his whole body were aflame, and he clenched his fists as the feeling tore through him, all master plans of defeating Danny flung out of the window as he studied an equally conflicted human girl unsuccessfully bottling her emotions in front of him.

"Doctor.." Clara managed eventually, licking her lips. The tension was so thick he could cut it with a knife.

The Doctor made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. He was way beyond the point of talking. The way Clara was staring at him now, he was ninety percent sure that if he kissed her she would reciprocate. He lowered his head and waited, barely breathing as he strained to hear her whispered answer.

"Please...just leave," she told him sadly, "I need to tell Danny something."

The Doctor's hearts deflated like a punctured balloon; loudly, and blowing one last defiant raspberry to the world. He looked at her like she had kicked a puppy, all wounded eyes and drooping smile.

"Oh," he said, retracting his arm from around her shoulder and immediately missing her weight against it, "if that's what you want." He left the statement hanging in the air until she nodded dejectedly, gazing at her slippered feet that never quite reached the floor. The Doctor gently held the back of her head with both hands and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead before he left, rubbing her cheek with a thumb and telling her to call if she needed him, to which she smiled and muttered a simple yes back.

He didn't leave the kitchen after that.

He fetched the fold-up chair from the narrow gap in-between Clara's counters and the wall and sat there for the last half an hour of Danny's visit, picking listlessly at a Jammy Dodger as their voices drifted through the open door. He felt physically sick, hearing Clara laughing and teasing another man. The Doctor had never reacted well to his companions having romantic relationships- he had been quick to dismiss Mickey as Rose's pet and even Rory, at first, hadn't inspired much of his confidence. He had broken up Donna's relationship (to be fair, he _had _been in league with a giant female spider at the time) and had been the object of Martha's affection for a time. He was no stranger to the human desire to love and be loved. But Danny was different- he could not be cowed or intimidated like he had Mickey and Rory. The man could easily stand up to and put down the Doctor if he wanted to, much like how Rory had been towards the end. Only, much, much, worse because Danny stood in-between him and Clara and if he was to have any chance with his feisty companion, the Doctor would have to effectively remove him from her life or convince her to let him go. He had the sinking feeling that a man like Danny would not give up a girl like Clara easily.

The Doctor munched his way through half the biscuit before he noticed raised voices coming from the living room. He leaped from his seat so fast it tipped to the ground, biscuit falling from his fingers to the floor as hope began to grow in his chest. _Was Clara shouting at Danny?_

As quietly as he could the Doctor tiptoed down the hallway, listening. Yes, that was Clara shouting- and could he detect a hint of guilt in Danny's answering tones? He almost did a jig on the spot. Goodbye untouchable Clara Crush, hello Mickey Smith Mark Two. He straightened his bow tie and strode confidently into the room, feigning surprise at the tense situation within. Clara was sat rigid in her chair, cheeks flushed, leaning forward on her palms as she spat something so fast at Danny that the Doctor missed what she was saying completely. He didn't bother to listen to his reply, instantly moving to Clara's side, but he could tell that whatever it was Danny had said upset them both.

Clara looked up when the Doctor reached her chair. Her face was a hostile mask, the default emotion she displayed when she was hurting. He placed his hand on her cheek and she closed her eyes, mask cracking as his thumb stroked over her ear.

"What's going on?" He asked them both, a mixture of concerned and defensive. Clara shook her head and Danny averted his gaze, standing awkwardly but angrily in the centre of the room.

"Just...make him leave," she sighed, mask softening as his thumb continued to stroked down her cheek to her jaw, rubbing over tear tracks that had carved clear tracks through her make up and dried there.

"If that's what you want..."

She nodded. The Doctor slid his hand from her cheek and marched over to Danny, looking a lot more confident than he felt.

"I'm not leaving," Danny stated boldly, folding his arms across his chest, brow furrowed. The Doctor copied him but the effect was much less threatening when the lanky Time Lord did it than the muscular, ex-army maths teacher.

"Yes, you are. You have thirty seconds. Door's that way," the Doctor pointed in the general direction of the front door. He knew that behind him, Clara was itching to grab the man by the collar and fling him out headfirst by herself, but with her legs that was just not possible.

Danny stood resolutely still. The Doctor the watch on his wrist deliberately slowly to face him and counted down the seconds out loud. Annoyingly, the man ignored the hint and still didn't leave.

"Why are you still here?" The Doctor said rudely once the allotted time had elapsed.

"I want to know who it is," he stated to Clara. Her face paled.

"Who what is?" The Doctor replied, genuinely confused.

"Who is so important that she won't even _consider_, after all these months we've known each other, dat-"

"_Leave. Now_." Clara stressed, eyes flickering from the Doctor to Danny and back again.

The Doctor felt like he was missing something, something important. He clicked his fingers as Clara fiddled nervously with hers, some other emotion getting the better of her anger. He looked at Danny, but all he was getting from him was anger. What was going on?

Danny, perhaps seeing an opportunity in the Doctor's confusion, tried to quickly run around him. The Doctor was quicker, though, and caught him by the arm with one hand all thoughts of Clara flying from his mind.

"Get out," he told him dangerously, shoving him towards the door.

"But-" Danny protested. The Doctor grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, adrenaline pounding through him, and practically dragged the man down the hallway as he shouted threats at him. The Doctor ignored him as he twisted in his grip and calmly opened the door, throwing Danny out onto the concrete floor outside Clara's flat and shutting the door firmly in his face.

"Right," he said to himself, brushing off his hands. He locked the door then re-entered the living room. "What was that?" He demanded of Clara, uncharacteristically angry with her.

Clara swallowed. "I told him...I told him something personal, he took it badly and we argued. What is there to say?"

"Clara, I just threw a man out of your flat for you without any explanation! There is a lot to say!" He ran a hand frustratedly through his quiff, mussing it up so it stuck out in all directions. It would have been funny if he hadn't been so irritated.

"I know!" She snapped back fiercely, tense, "I know," she repeated, softer, "thank you, Doctor. For getting rid of him."

He nodded then replied quietly, "Why won't you tell me?"

Clara fiddled with her nails. "It's personal," she argued, "I don't want to talk about it."

One look at her face told her that he wasn't going to get anywhere with this line of attack. It was set in another of her masks; the calm, reserved one this time. He sighed. "Well if you do," he said waving a hand nonchalantly in her direction, "I'm always here."

"Thank you," she said sincerely.

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully. The Doctor once again retired to the kitchen when Clara's friends arrived, harbouring no desire to spend an hour with a bunch of giggly women. One was enough at the best of times.

Once they had left (sobbing and leaving two empty boxes of chocolates) the Doctor found Clara asleep in her chair in the living room. He frowned in concern. All she ever seemed to do was sleep. Sighing, he gathered her up into his arms and walked her back into her bedroom and deposited her on the bed, covering her with a thin blanket to protect the evening chill. The TARDIS glowed blue in the corner, and the Doctor wondered exactly when he had given up his life to look after Clara. Where once his head was full of stars and planets and wonders to take her too, now he worried over the amount of medication she was taking; whether he needed to increase or decrease the amount, if he had given her the right doses of the correct tablets that morning. He worried if she was comfortable, he agonised over what food he should cook and if it was good enough for her and if it gave her the nutrients she needed to survive. He was anxious about her mental state; what she was thinking, how she was feeling, how her condition was affecting her. He lived in fear that Fenric would come back and finish her off before her illness would. He placed his head in his hands. Whenever he stopped to think all these doubts and fears would crescendo, clamouring for his immediate attention, and it was all he could do to keep a lid on it all. One thing at a time.

The Doctor checked his watch. Six-fifteen in the evening. He needed to have a rummage through Clara cupboards to see what she had, then plan some meals for the next week. He had no idea how he was going to accomplish this; maybe he should wait for Clara to wake up before he attempted it. Focus on tonight's dinner first, worry about the next few days' when he had the time and the knowledge to deal with it properly. Nodding to himself, he reached into his pocket and produced two compact baby monitors. He switched both on and checked that they were on the same frequency before placing one on Clara's bedside table and, leaving her in the room with a kiss on the forehead, settled the other one on the counter next to him in the kitchen. He could hear her breathing through it, reassuring him that he would immediately know if her condition changed. Pulling a few recipe books from the shelf just outside, he sat down in his fold out chair and began to read.


	29. Chapter 29- In Your Eyes Only

"Clara."

"Yes?"

The Doctor rolled over so he was facing her back. "I've been meaning to ask you- the pictures on the wall in your Dad's house, when we visited. There aren't any of just you and him. Why?"

He heard her sigh, elbow extending to prop herself up as she struggled to face him. He placed a hand on her waist to steady her as she wobbled, strength failing her like it had been doing for most every day that week. The paralysis was spreading to her upper body. In the darkness of her bedroom, he could make out the faint outline of her body, weary and thin, her curves giving in to the increased demands of her immune system. She had stopped eating properly a while ago, and it was showing. Despite her condition she shrugged, bony shoulders noticeable even in the black of night.

"He can't face it. He wants to remember the time when he was happy; not remind himself of how she died."

"Is he not happy, then? Without her?" He asked tentatively. He closed his eyes when Clara's hand met his on her waist, her fingers tracing the underside of his wrist tenderly as she frowned.

"Why so many questions?"

"Just curious," he answered in a neutral tone, but Clara worked it out almost instantly, fingers stilling at the faint crease that divided his hand from his wrist.

"I'm not going to die Doctor," she told him fiercely, voice faint and not entirely convincing. Defiant to the last- believing that if she maintained a positive attitude her immune system would boost and over come the disease rotting her body. The Placebo effect.

If only.

He smiled. "Of course not," he humoured her, surpressing a contented sigh when she resumed stroking the back of his hand, fingers trailing lightly in the dips next to each knuckle. She knew as well as he did that there was no cure, unless Fenric had one hidden up his sleeve. The Doctor had often wondered if he should go after him and demand that he provided one for her, but Fenric was slippery to catch at the best of times, even when he wanted to be found. It would take too long to find him- if Fenric wanted to watch Clara die, he would come.

"Are you going to come to bed, or are you going to lie on top of the covers all night?" Clara asked, smiling teasingly at him as her hand meandered it's way to his elbow and pressed into the soft flesh there.

"I'm not tired," he told her, completely missing the flirtatious look that had come with the request. He was lying fully dressed on top of the duvet on one side of the bed with Clara snuggled under it a foot or so away from him. He never slept anymore, and was content to just lie on top of the covers all night and watch her sleep. Most of the time, though, she invited him in with her, claiming that he helped keep the bed and her warm. One of her recent symptons was that she just could not stay warm, and apparently sleeping curled up next to the Doctor helped with that.

"Didn't say you had to be," Clara replied saucily. The Doctor did not miss the implied meaning this time, and squirmed uncomfortably as she laughed.

"Clara!" He scolded.

"What? It's not like you don't live with me. Oh, come on Doctor," her eyes widened innocently, "_I'm cold._"

"Oh, all right then," he grumbled, making sharing a bed with her sound like a hardship, "but only if you behave."

"I always behave," she said, hand falling to her side as the Doctor left the double bed to retrieve his jammys from her chest of drawers. She had given him a couple of draws to himself to keep his clothes in, sparing him the trek through the TARDIS to find the wardrobe every time he needed fresh clothes.

He changed in the bathroom, leaving his suit and braces rumpled on the floor before eagerly rejoining Clara in the bedroom.

"Someone's happy." Clara remarked dryly as he practically bounced up to his side of the bed, swiftly slipping under the covers and taking her into his arms in one fluid movement as he grinned. He wrapped his arms around her torso and pressed her close, sighing gently as their bodies fit together and her hands found their way into his hair, running slowly through the fluffy brown strands. It was hard to control himself in these moments of bliss, where he could pretend that everything was alright, and he hid his face in her neck, breathing in deeply the remnants of the days perfume that still clung to her pale skin.

He didn't bother to answer, just 'mmm'd' into her shoulder as her fingers moved from his hair and wrapped themselves comfortably around his neck. Neither thought of their positions as being particularly odd for people who were 'just friends'. The boundaries that they previously had not dared to cross were now blurred and broken, the line between what was decent and what was not forgotten in their subconscious desire to be near each other. The Doctor curled around her when she rolled in his arms, head pillowed on one of his outstretched arms and the other clasped to her stomach. She was spooned against him but neither minded, Clara's breaths gradually growing deeper as she relaxed into him and fell asleep, the Doctor watching over her. It had all become part of their routine.

In the mornings Clara would wake up (usually to find the Doctor already up and about fetching her medicine, although some days he would still be holding her), and be greeted with a morning kiss to the forehead or the shoulder if he was still in bed wth her. She would swallow her medicine and then the Doctor would pick her up and carry her slowly to the living room so as not to jolt her increasingly painful joints, settling her in her armchair surrounded by cushions. Only when he was sure she was comfortable would he leave her to go to the kitchen and make breakfast, which most days was a bowl of cereal each, and they would sit there munching it in front of the telly. After breakfast it was showering- the Doctor helping Clara- and after the first few times they did it the Doctor flailing and blushing at Clara's nudity (much to her amusement) he had grown used to the practice. Clara would then wait in the living room with a book and wet hair until he finished and came in with the hair dryer for her. If Clara was feeling well then once the Doctor had done the housework and locked the TARDIS they would go out shopping, her in her wheelchair holding the bags on her lap as she gleefully spent as much money as she could in every shop they could find (it was the Doctor's money, and his supply was endless). They would have a drink and a cake in a cafe afterwards, an idea of the Doctor's that if he bought her lots of cake and frothy coffee she would keep her weight up. Clara would usually begin to ache and get tired by then, prompting the Doctor to take her home. The rest of their day consisted of laughing over what they had bought and falling asleep in front of Eastenders. The Doctor would carry her to bed, and the cycle would begin again.

Some days they would go to the cinema, others they spent at home watching box sets of TV shows or baking. The Doctor had tried on many an occasion to recreate her mother's souffle for her, and was only now beginning to appreciate how tough it was. He had made one before for her when he had taken her from Fenric, but he had had the TARDIS to help him then and even with the old girl's help it had still come out half burnt.

Today, however, when Clara opened her eyes to the welcome warmth of the Doctor nestled around her and the sound of birdsong in her ears, she didn't want to do anything at all. Everything hurt. Her muscles, her joints- she was even getting persistant pangs in her chest this morning, a rarity. She knew on instinct that today was going to be a particularly bad one.

_Or maybe not so bad_, she smiled to herself as the Doctor kissed her shoulder and her temple in quick succession.

"Morning," she greeted him sleepily, rubbing the long arm draped around her waist sluggishly. It tightened around her.

"Good morning, Clara," he said, "how are you today?"

She groaned. "Terrible. Today's a staying in day," she confirmed.

"Is it that bad?" He asked, worry creeping into his voice. He propped himself up so he could see her face and noted the fresh bags under her eyes and the creases of skin wrinkling as she winced.

"Yes," she muttered softly.

"I'll go get you some more painkillers. I'll be right back." He stroked his hand along her cheek to comfort her and left the bed, cold air invading the sheets as the duvet was lifted. She shivered, and the Doctor swiftly tucked the bedding back around her, traipsing down the hall to the bathroom to collect the medicine he had prepared the night before, adding some of her emergency painkillers into the mix. Oxy-norm, it was called.

When he got back to the room, Clara hadn't moved from where she was laying on her side. This was unusual, for her; normally she would be sitting up or at least resting on her back in anticipation for her medicine. Her breaths were long and deep with lengthy gaps between them.

"Clara?" He sat next to her on the bed and edged as close as he dared to without jolting her and causing more pain. "Clara, dar-" he stopped abruptly, "look at me."

She opened her eyes. "Hurts," she bit out through gritted teeth.

"I know, I know," he soothed, filling a syringe with the painkiller. He wanted to hold her, reassure her, but he knew that the slightest touch from him would spiral her into more agony. "Open your mouth, that's it," he slipped the hole at the bottom of the syringe past her lips and waited patiently for her teeth to part. His hands trembled. "Swallow Clara, come on," he urged when he squirted the drug down her throat, "you can do it." She gulped it down, and the Doctor tugged the syringe out of her mouth before she could clamp her teeth down on it. He threw it into the anti-septic bowl at the end of their bed and waited, barely breathing, to see if the dosage had been enough.

Clara moaned, then lay still.

The Doctor stared.

Waiting.

Waiting.

She finally took a long, shuddering breath and the Doctor sighed with relief, stroking her hair soothingly as he prepared the rest of her medicine using one hand. He popped the tablets out and crumbled them into a glass of water in one practised movement. Clara should wake up from the painkillers soon- he had given her a bigger dosage than usual, and it would take a while for her system to adjust to it. He sat beside her on the bed and couldn't resist slipping an arm around her, hugging her to him. Her face was relaxed but her shoulders were tense, and the Doctor nudged his hand up behind her shoulder blade to rub the knotted band of muscle there. He did this for the rest of her neckline, and smiled when she began to mumble and roll her shoulders in response to his fingers.

Clara was coming round from the painkillers, tilting her head forward to offer more skin for the Doctor to work on, when all of her muscles involuntarily clenched at once. She gasped in shock, eyes widening with horror, panicking at the feel of her waist going numb. Cold fingers were crawling up her spine and round her ribs inch by inch, every nerve they came across shutting down when the two came into contact.

"Doctor," Clara managed, voice slurring. She tried to grab hold of his hand but her arm was limp, draped across the Doctor's stomach like it had been glued there. She cried out, and he immediately turned her in his hold so he could see her properly, hand moving up from her waist to cup her cheek. She so badly wanted to lean in to that hand, to nuzzle her cheek into his palm and encourage a smile to lift the edges of his mouth and chase the pain away. Even more she wanted to tangle her fingers in his hair and kiss away the grief and the hurt that had permanently become a part of him no matter how hard he tried to hide it; to feel his body flush against hers and the drumming of his hearts outracing her own, singular heartbeat as they tasted each other's lips. After so long pretending, Clara just wanted to let go and have him, have him for her own, but all she could manage was a strangled cry that only succeeded in drawing his brow closer together and his hand to relocate to her forehead, measuring her temperature with a muttered curse.

"You're burning up," he observed, fingers shaking as he drew out the sonic from the folds of his coat and scanned her with it. The icy fingers were now up to Clara's chest, and her breaths were accompanied by a rattling wheeze. She watched helplessly as the Doctor played the green light of the device up and down her body, face falling as he realised that there was nothing he could do. This was really it this time, no last minute cure, no miracle that could save her. Not now. A single tear dripped down his face and he clutched her closer, kissing her neck softly, the only place left that could still feel.

"No," he choked, "Clara, _no_. Don't leave me." He knocked their foreheads together gently, lovingly, and Clara, through the cold and her fading vision, registered the love that came with the gesture. She had been stupid, so stupid, not to see it before. It had been so obvious- in the way that he looked at her, the constant touching and hugging and stroking, the way he had treated Danny when he came to visit. She must've been blind not to. But, in a way, they both had been, their stubborn natures and the walls they both had built to keep out emotions that would otherwise hurt them. Would break them. Clara had known almost straight away, on their first proper alien adventure to Akhaten, that there was more loneliness and sorrow to the young-looking alien that had whisked her away than met the eye. It was what she did- she could read people. And nobody could see pain and heartbreak in another- hidden as it may be- than one that had experienced them first hand.

The Doctor clutched her as close as he dared, arms snaking around her middle, hands stroking her sides, trying to comfort her as best he could in her final moments. Her heart beat erractically against his chest, faltering then catching up with itself, and he nudged their noses together careful to keep the contact between their foreheads. He heard her sigh and felt her breath ghost over his lips, causing his to part ever so slightly. He wanted to, so badly it tore at his heart and made his body tingle, sorrow and desperation mixing in his stomach and eating at him relentlessly, dogging his thoughts. He tilted his head, hesitant, lips just touching, then stopped.

Clara stared at him, shocked, just able to make out the outline of his face as her vision blurred. She saw the same emotion reflected back at her, as if neither of them could quite believe that this was happening, before closing her eyes and bringing their lips together.

They stayed there, lips locked, for a long moment, Clara falling limp in his arms as she lost the last of her control over her body. The Doctor's tears mingled with hers on her cheeks as she moved the only part of her body she could- her mouth- and kissed him slowly, savouring the intimate touch. He seemed to hesitate for a second, perhaps wondering whether it was such a good idea after all, but when Clara brought his lower lip between her's to nibble, he stopped wondering and reciprocated, kissing just as slow, mouth moving in tandem with her's until he just couldn't contain himself and sped up, hungrily tasting her, crushing her petite body to his chest as he longed for more; _ached _to feel her fingers in his hair and her legs straddling him and her lips against his neck. Clara let out a quiet moan as he lavished attention on her, lips becoming sloppy as her neck, chin, then lower lip became numb. The Doctor noticed and he reluctantly pulled away from her, nuzzling their foreheads together again as she struggled to keep her eyes open and focused on his face.

"I love you," she choked out, mouth falling slack as she lost the nerves surrounding it. He sobbed, tears dripping down her nose and onto her already saturated eyelashes. He rubbed their noses together, attempting to reassure her, to put some action to the emotions threatening to boil over in his hearts.

"Clara Oswald," he said her name like it was the first time, the last time, like it was simultaniously the best and worst words that could fall from his lips, "I-" He stopped. He couldn't carry on. Clara's eyebrows lifted and wiggled, the only communication she had left, encouraging him to say it. The words caught in his throat, clawing to get out but choking him at the same time. He closed his eyes, and a wisp of breath raised goosebumps on his cheek. "I love you," he whispered finally in her ear, a weight lifting off his chest as he said it, but when he opened his eyes to look into her's one last time she was already gone.

* * *

><p>The room was white.<p>

A pristine, stark white that seemed to stretch on for miles, giving the chamber the look of infinity when really it was only the size of your average house.

There was nothing in it. It was an infinity of nothing, containing nothing, the picture of purity. The walls were seamless- there were no visible doors or wall decorations, not even a window from which to gaze out on the view. Which suited the owner of said room wonderfully, as he had no interest in either beauty nor material wealth. The only living being he had truly loved had died at the hands of a Fool centuries ago, and he had no further use for his life. Apart, maybe, for one tiny thing, which would soon be accomplished.

He stood in the centre of that room, dressed in a crisp white suit to match his surroundings. He wanted to be presentable for his guest. After all, today had been an important day for him.

He waited patiently, still as a statue, knowing that his client would come in his own time. His gift had been delivered; it was now time for the reward to be collected.

And what a sweet reward it would be.

A wheezing, groaning noise echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the walls eerily until it was absorbed by the farthest wall. A crooked smile crawled it's way onto the suited man's face and he looked up at the ceiling, unable to stop the tears of happiness making themselves known. This was it- the moment he had been waiting for, the past five decades of his long, too long, life coming to fruition before his eyes. He was almost excited.

The blue box finished materialising. He held his breath. The Time Machine seemed dimmer than usual, the flashing light on the top turned down low, cloister bells ringing. It sounded like it was mourning.

The lock clicked and the door creaked open. Out stepped a man, clad in purple tweed, the pale and lifeless body of a tiny girl sheltered in his gangly arms. Fenric smiled genuinely for the first time in a long time, spreading his arms wide to the newcomer.

"Hello, Fool," he greeted the Doctor cheerfully, "long time no see. Do you like my new pad?"

"You." The Doctor stated. His face was pasty pale in colour, as if someone had literally leeched the life from him.

"Yes, _me_," he wiggled his fingers jauntily at the Time Lord as hello, "Don't I get a hug?" The Doctor glared. Fenric shrugged. "No hug then, but a hello, at least, I mean we haven't seen each other for so _long_, I deserve a nice hello from somebody."

"Why?" The Doctor asked, emotionless, leaning back against the TARDIS and sliding down to the cold hard ground, legs giving out from underneath him.

"You hurt me; I was merely returning the favour. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth." He inspected his fingernails.

"That is not an excuse for taking an innocent life," the Doctor spat back, still cradling Clara against his hearts.

"Since when has that ever stopped _you_?" Fenric returned cruelly. The Doctor took a sharp intake of breath.

"No. Don't you ever _dare _use her against me-"

"Or what? You'll kill me?" Fenric laughed manically. "Look at you, you're _pathetic_. If anything, it should be _me _killing _you_."

The Doctor stared sadly down at the body in his arms. "Go on then. Do it," he said flatly, "I don't care."

Fenric laughed, the sound grating on the Doctor's ears. He was almost annoyed, but mostly he just felt dead inside. "Not anymore," he whispered to the cold girl whose arm was still curved as if it was wrapped around his waist. It crossed his mind to move it, to straighten it out and replace it in her lap with her other hand, but it had been too long a gap between her death and them arriving here and her muscles had already gone stiff, setting in their final position. He had to take her back to Earth, to report her death and start arranging her funeral, to finally open the little black book she had been scribbling in and read what her final wishes were. Even more tempting was to cremate her in the sun and fling himself in after her- it was his last regeneration, he wouldn't have to suffer a change- but somehow he knew that Clara wouldn't want him to do it.

_Don't be alone, Doctor._

Fenric walked towards the TARDIS, shoes clacking on the floor. "Such an extraordinary ship. I always admired the Time Lords for their genius." He reached out a hand to lean against the frame and step into the ship but the Doctor snapped his fingers, doors slamming shut in Fenric's face at the subtle command.

"Clever." Fenric commented, inclining his head politely in the Doctor's direction.

The grieving alien glared at his enemy, but bit back the repy he was longing to give and waited. Playing Fenric's game to the bitter end.

He sat down opposite the Doctor, cross-legged, thin creases appearing in his immaculate trousers. "Why are you here?" He asked brusquely. "Not that I mind company," he added, sounding almost human, "but we only usually meet if we're trying to kill each other."

The Doctor looked shrunken and miniscule sitting opposite the broad, confident frame of his enemy and he stared at the ground, unable to look him in the eye. "I thought," he muttered quietly, defeated, "I thought you might have a cure."

"There is no cure." Fenric said flatly, "not for humans."

The Doctor nodded, gathering Clara up in his arms and preparing to leave but Fenric slammed a hand down on his shoulder. Both men tensed at the contact, a bolt of electricity surging between them. Old Gods and Time Lords were not meant to touch. The Doctor looked up at him, shocked.

"Luckily for you," Fenric said smugly, "the girl is not human."

"Yes she is," the Doctor countered, outraged that Fenric would dare to suggest such a thing.

"Not quite. I'm in her head, remember? Clara-plus-Old- God. And Time Lord," he added as an afterthought, "after you kissed her, you dirty old man."

The Doctor had neither the strength or the inclination to argue. "So you can cure her?" He asked skeptically, not allowing himself to get his hopes up. This was Fenric, after all- he couldn't be trusted.

Fenric grinned devilishly and made a show of reaching into his pocket, hand snapping in the air as he revealed a tiny vial of white liquid, stoppered with a small glass cork. "I do."

The Doctor temporarily forgot how to breathe. "_No..._" He tried to snatch it out of Fenric's grasp but he withheld it teasingly above him.

"I would happily give it to Clara here," he mused, "but the thing is, this is my last vial. And I don't think I wanna part with it. I mean," -he pulled an overly innocent face- "what if _I _am kidnapped and injected with a lethal drug? What would I do then?"

"Please, Fenric," the Doctor begged, "you may hate me but you don't hate Clara. _I know you don't. _Please."

"I'll want something in return," Fenric warned darkly, "something _big._ Something..._preciou_s."

"Anything," the Doctor promised desperately.

"I want the TARDIS."

The Doctor recoiled from him in shock. "The _TARDIS? _You want...no. No. Absolutely not," he asserted immediately, the default answer he had for these types of situations.

"Very well," Fenric replied casually, shrugging, "then I'll smash the vial and your precious companion dies for good." He held the container by his fingertips, the few inches of rare liquid sloshing tantalisingly within as he swung it from side to side. He mimed letting go.

"_No!_" The Doctor shouted, flinging himself forward in a ditch attempt to catch the vial before it hit the floor and smashed. Fenric snatched it out of the air before he could, though, and began to bounce it from palm to palm.

"The girl or the time machine. It's your choice." Fenric smirked smugly at the Doctor as he studied Clara's face silently.

"She's not dead?" He asked quietly, hardly daring to believe it.

"No, just in a very deep coma. Clever, huh? The longer we wait the more likely it is that she'll die, however, so you'd better hurry up and make a decision. Tick, tock."

It was an impossible choice. The woman that he loved or his home, the last piece of the home planet that he had left. Impossible, unthinkable, yet he knew he had to make it. But how?

He closed his eyes and reached a hand into his tweed pocket. _I'm so sorry, _he thought, before sliding his fist out of his coat and opening it to Fenric.

"Clara. I chose Clara." He said softly. He threw the key to Fenric at the same time as he did the vial to him, and the Doctor caught it expertly with one hand, fingers shaking as he uncorked the vial and poured the contents down Clara's open mouth.

Behind him, the TARDIS let out an indignified screech through her circuits as Fenric unlocked the door, laughing manically.

"So long, sucker," he taunted, "next time I'll kill you both." He slammed the door shut, twirling. The last the Doctor saw of his beloved spaceship was a fading blue light and the disappointed, sorrowful tone of her engines as she was piloted to god knows where with her new owner.

_Don't worry, old girl. I'll get you back._

He turned his attention back to the girl laying in his lap. Her heartbeat had restarted and colour was quickly returning to her cheeks. He felt an ecstatic grin form on his face, giving way to nerves as he remembered the way they had said goodbye. Did she even remember his confession? He doubted it. She had fallen into her coma at the same time as he had said it.

She wiggled in his lap and her eyes opened one at a time, processing her surroundings. She saw his face and smiled.

"Hello, Doctor."

"Hello, beautiful," he replied, watching her tenderly as her smile widened, "welcome back."

She sat up in his lap and drew her knees to her chest, laughing excitedly when they did and jumping to her feet, jogging on the spot.

"I can move!" She shouted gleefully and, like a child at playtime, sprinted down the length of the room, veering off to the side once or twice while her legs got used to moving again. The Doctor pushed himself up from his seat on the floor and laughed with her; big booming chuckles that send her spinning around and flying back to him, leaping into the air and crashing into him. They fell to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs and surprised shouts, giggles and light hearted scolding (on the Doctor's part) filling the air. Clara extricated herself from the mess of elbows and knees and offered a hand to help the Doctor up, stepping forward to comfortably wind her arms around his middle and gently kiss his chin, shyly testing the waters.

"Thank you," she told him, scratching his back lightly with her nails, "for saving me."

His neck flushed, and he wondered whether he should tell her that it had been Fenric, not him, that had brought her back. Talking of the devil...

"Where are we?" She asked, looking around.

"Where we started. Taxyhon Spaceport, Polaris galaxy. These are Fenric's private chambers, where he comes to think."

"Full circle, "Clara noted, "aaand where, exactly, is the TARDIS?"

Sharp as ever- not even nearly dying could dull Clara's acute senses. She knew him inside out, upside down, out and in. Which was part of why they were so well matched, but at this moment in time the Doctor dearly wished that she wasn't.

"Um.." Stalled the Doctor, trying desperately to think up an excuse that wouldn't have her slapping him into his next regeneration, "I sent it back to your flat."

Clara unwound her arms from his waist and took a step back. "No."

The Doctor cursed mentally, deciding there was no point in lying to her and he might as well take the slap. "Fenric wanted the TARDIS in exchange for your life," he started explained, and was interrupted by the hardest, loudest slap he had experienced in all his thousand-odd years of time travel.

"_Clara!_" He yelped, rubbing his face as it throbbed.

"You idiot!" She shouted back, "you gave a raving lunatic a _time machine_!"

"To save you!" He protested.

"Am I really that special that it is worth risking the lives of millions of innocent people, just so I can live?"

"Yes!" He spluttered, grabbing hold of her wrists before she could fit in another slap. "Clara, please."

She wouldn't look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, refusing to meet his. "You know I can't live with that."

"And you won't," he promised, raising one of her hands to his lips so he could kiss each knuckle, "we'll stop him."

"How?" She met his eyes, searching them for answers.

"Haven't the foggiest," he told her confidently, "but we'll work something out, you and I."

"You and I." She sighed back, leaning forward and into him again. "Don't think I'm letting you off lightly, I'm still pissed," she added, frowning.

"Are you?" He asked, pulling her into him by the hand. She landed her palms at his chest. "How about now?" He dipped his head down and nudged her nose aside, tilting her head until their lips touched. It was different this time, more relaxed, but with an underlying tone of want and need that neither of them missed. The kiss quickly became heated, months of unresolved tension bubbling to the surface, and she parted from him abruptly, leaving him chasing after her lips as she smoothed down his lapels.

"Now if we still had her, I'd say let's move this into the TARDIS," Clara said flirtily raising an eyebrow, "what do you think?"

He smiled as he caught on to her meaning. "I think Fenric left no guards in this place."

It took Clara a minute to catch up with his Doctor-logic but when she did she smirked her approval, rubbing her heel up his trouser leg teasingly.

"Well then," she stood on tip-toe to whisper in his ear, "what are you waiting for?"

The Doctor swung her up bridle style into his arms and rushed from the room, running along the perimeter until an automatic door slid open. His bow tie fell from his collar and into Clara's open palm once they found the right room, and the Doctor set her down inside the doorway once he had soniced it open. She grabbed him by his collar and tugged him in the room after her, passing a fleeting furtive glance both ways down the corridor before kicking the door shut and locking it securely.

After all, they didn't want to be disturbed.

**A/N**  
><strong>Hello! In case you were wondering, that is not the end! There <strong>_**will **_**be a sequel coming very soon for y'all to enjoy. Dunno what it will be called yet- In His Smile? In Their Hearts? Tell me which one you prefer down in the reviews.**

**I'd just like to say a HUGE thank you to everyone that has stuck it out through all the pain, angst and tears to the very end- all my lovely readers and favourite-rs and followers and of course you wonderful reviewers who really help my world go round, especially during the past few months- thank you! For putting up with my non-exsistent update schedule and missed deadlines. Heh. I should work on that...XD**

**Just for the record, I was never gonna kill her off. Gosh no. Even the thought of it makes me want to cry into my phone D:**

**Anyways, I hope to see every one of your beautiful faces when the next book comes out. I'll be waiting :)**

-**Jasmine out.**


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